


What Is It We Are Fighting For?

by Neanmorra



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drama, Mental Torture, Other, Recovery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neanmorra/pseuds/Neanmorra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

The man in shackles lifted his head at the creaking sound of the old but robust wooden door and revealed a black eye and a nasty gash on his left cheek. His brown shoulder-length hair was unruly and matted strands of it covered part of his face. A faint smile played around his lips when his gaze fell upon the warden entering the dimly lit cell. The man did not move, nor did he flinch when the warden backhanded him across the face. Maybe he should not have spat him in the face when he upon his arrival in the dungeons.

Satisfied, the warden showed a dirty grin and knelt down next to his prisoner and producing an iron key, he removed the shackles around the man's wrists. With a loud clank that reverberated in the cold wet cell the chains tumbled to the stone tiles, right next to a solid iron ring protruding from the floor. The man had been chained to it, in order to keep him in a kneeling position.

As if the rattling of the dropped chain links had been a signal, two more guards with grim features stomped into the small room. To an unskilled eye they would have seemed like any ordinary person. Their dull grey eyes and even greyer hair added to their blank and earnest expression. Yet, however ordinary they looked, the man knew better. The Twins, as they were called, were products of experiments carried out on war prisoners by Doctor Nye. They owed their peculiar name to the very first test subjects who had been twin brothers, namely Damien Everglade and Brandon Everwood. The experiment itself was a feeble and rather amateurish attempt of capturing the human soul by extracting it from its body. Curiously, each person to have their soul ripped from their body – painfully, I imagine – was robbed of every colour; be it eye or hair, leaving the expressionless grey of a train station behind.

Stripped of their souls they were the perfect lackeys for the bad guys. And lackeys they remained for with their soul taken every ounce of magic they might have had possessed one day, vanished. 

The Twins grabbed the prisoner by his upper arms and hauled him into a standing position what made him cry out in pain since he had been kneeling for over two days now. His legs gave in and had it not been for the guards, he would have collapsed to the cold floor once again. Instead he was dragged out of the dungeons, his legs scraping over the stone tiles uselessly.

Nefarian Serpine stood at the far end of a ridiculously long dining table that could have hosted about seventy people, hands crossed behind his back, which faced the massive wooden door through which The Twins were leading their prisoner now. The man looked around as he finally managed to stand on his trembling legs, taking in the stone walls that were covered by heavy crimson tapestries. There were no other adornments, at least no visible ones but the man was certain, the whole castle and this room – it must be the throne room – especially were covered in protective sigils.

Upon hearing approaching footsteps, Serpine turned around and a broad grin split his face as he strode towards the trio. “Skulduggery Pleasant!”, he exclaimed and stretched out his arms as if he were to embrace his arch enemy. “How are you, old friend?”

Skulduggery waited patiently until Serpine was close enough before he kicked him in the shin and struggled to shake off The Twins. He smashed his forehead into the face of the guard to his left, feeling the crunch of a breaking nose and wrenched his arm free. Snapping his fingers he produced a flame in his hand and threw the fireball at the second guard. Skulduggery was about to send a blast of air into Serpine when he experienced an agonising pain rippling through his body and his legs buckled beneath him, sending him to the stone floor screaming. Had he looked up and kept his senses together enough to register anything but tremendous agony, Skulduggery would have seen Serpine's blood red hand, cramped like a hawk's talon, sometimes twisting to entice another high pitched scream out of his prisoner. His eyes shone like those of a mad man while he seemed to be caught up in a world of blood and despair, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

Only when Skulduggery was on the brink of passing out, Serpine snapped his hand back to his chest and turned on his heels, waving to The Twins to pick Skulduggery up. “That was rude, my friend. However, I am a respectable host. Please, have a seat.”

The Twins dragged their moaning prisoner to a plain wooden chair and firmly pressed him into it before binding his hands behind the chair's high backrest. Skulduggery hated high backrests. In contrast to ordinary or average backrests you had the advantage of tying up people far more efficiently since the hight of the wood prevented the victims from simply standing up and walking out.

Before Skulduggery could possibly think about snapping his fingers, burning the ropes and making for an adventurous and stylish escape, Serpine had walked behind him and touched the bonds whispering 'Bind the Strength and Bind the Heart'. Immediately every drop of magic was drained from his body, leaving an uncomfortable and peculiar void within him that felt too familiar for his liking. Maybe he should stop being captured all the time.

“Now that I have your full attention, soldier, we are going to have a lovely afternoon. You screaming and me, the one making you scream.”

“I am not scared of you Serpine, you are nothing more than Mevolent's little pet.”

Serpine laughed. “Mevolent is all cruelty and blood, a hammer where he ought to be a needle. He certainly lacks creativity.”

“And you are the creative torturer?” Skulduggery cocked his head to the right, a tired yet mocking smile on his lips. “Pardon me, but you don't look like a spectacularly great artist. You have more of a librarian. This brings me to something I have always pondered. Since your right hand is slightly impractical for anything other than torture, are you a lefty? It would coincide with your claim to be creative, for lefties are said to be more of the artistic kind.”

“You will look back to this moment with longing once you scream and beg for mercy.” Serpine flashed his arch enemy a winning smile.

“I don't usually do that”, Skulduggery replied nodding. “You may be right, though. I haven't been tortured in years, more like ages, I definitely lack the exercise to begin with.”

“We should do something about that then, don't you think?” Serpine pushed back his long black coat and revealed a sheath girt at his hip. Carefully, he drew the dagger from the scabbard and admired the handiwork. “You know what is special about his weapon? It is magic-proof which means I don't even have to bother removing your armoured clothes.”As if to prove his point, Serpine bent at the waist and sliced across Skulduggery's chest, easily cutting through garments and flesh.

Skulduggery moaned but his pride forbid him to cry out. “Ghastly will be so annoyed when he learns that I ruined another one. Keep doing that, you know?”

Serpine's answer came in form of him lashing out again and opening a cut on his prisoner's body that ran from the right shoulder to the navel. Skulduggery groaned as the cold metal was pressed into his flesh once more and tore away at his chest. He clenched his teeth and felt the warm sticky blood running down his torso, consequently saturating his jacket and trousers. Skulduggery made an attempt in hiding his pain behind a defiant glare and spat: “This won't get you anywhere! I-”

The hissed words were replaced by a blood-curdling scream ripping through the hall, echoing from the stone walls; Serpine had pointed his crimson index finger at Skulduggery and with a gloating smile was now watching him writhe on the chair with no means to break free or shake off the pain. Every inch of his existence was filled with agony as wave after wave rolled through his body, smashing into him with renewed force the longer the ordeal went on. His mind went blank; all that remained was hot white pain.

When Serpine finally released him after what seemed like centuries, Skulduggery's body went limp in the ropes and he panted heavily, trying to suppress the pain that still echoed dully inside him but slowly started to die away. He felt so weak.

Serpine bent down, grabbed a handful of brown hair and pulled his prisoner's head back sharply. Skulduggery's face screwed up in pain, yet no sound escaped his mouth as he glared up at Serpine defiantly, who simply smirked and backhanded him across the face before straightening up and folding his arms behind his back.

“You know, Skulduggery, struggling never saved anybody and you and your little gang out there can fight as long as you like, Mevolent will win this war.”

“It keeps you concentrated on me while my friends have the possibility to wage war against the enemy without having to put up with your ugly face.”

“What heroic and humble behaviour!”, Serpine exclaimed, ignoring the insult. “But what good will that do, pray tell? I will torture you and present your fellow soldiers the broken shell of their O so great leader and defender of hope.”

“Pain won't sway me, Serpine!”, Skulduggery snapped.

A cruel smile appeared on Serpine's face as he embedded the blade in Skulduggery's right shoulder, finally drawing a scream of agony from him. Without removing the blade from his body, he gave one of The Twins a signal and leaned in on his prisoner conspiratorially. “That depends on the nature of pain”, he whispered.


	2. An Ace up the Sleeve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

Skulduggery froze on his chair as a small wooden door to his left was opened; once it must have been the entrance for the court jesters and servants carrying large silver plates for the mighty feasts of the king. Now a Twin led two people into the hall, their hands were bound before their bodies and one end of either rope lay firmly secured in the guard's fist, who pulled his stumbling prisoners along.

“No ...”, Skulduggery whispered, his deathly pale face a stony mask of disbelieve, while he felt even the last ounce of hope and willingness to fight being drained from his body. His head spun and he felt dizzy. Regaining some of his wits Skulduggery snapped his head to Serpine.

“You will pay for this!”, Skulduggery hissed and his voice trembled with loathing and fright.

Confused, the little girl turned her head in the direction of his voice, not having expected to hear it ever again. “Daddy!”

“Karath! Are you alright, darling?” Despite her pale tear-stained face that spoke for itself, he had to ask. 

It was in this short moment that Karath did not pay attention to The Twin leading them and when he tugged at the ropes sharply she fell to the floor, while her mother only stumbled, managing to remain upright. The girl quickly scrambled to her feet again and desperately sought to keep up with the pace in order not to be dragged across the rough tiles of the stone floor. Her bloodied palms and knees stood proof that it had happened before.

Skulduggery felt a furious rage boil up within him that blocked out his pain completely and he struggled to get rid of the bonds holding him in place.

Karath pulled up her nose and wiped her bloody hands on her muddy trousers, trying to show him that she was as strong as her parents and it was this little gesture that broke Skulduggery's heart. Kara was still so young, only eleven summers old and had not even chosen a name yet. It tore at his insides to see his little girl fighting back the tears and masking her tremendous fear just so he would be proud of her and think her a worthy daughter. When had that become an option? He was proud of her, no matter what she did; he had been proud when she had grown her first tooth and he had been proud when she had beaten up a bully at school. Kara was his daughter and pride came with the package.

Nemesis stepped behind her daughter and placed her bound hands comfortingly and reassuringly on Kara's shoulder and while her exterior remained cold and impenetrable, Skulduggery knew she was scared to death. She stood tall and proud behind Kara, her woollen trousers ripped in more than one place and on her forehead she sported a bloody gash as if something big and wild had scratched her.  
And there it was, the pride and love he felt for his family, turning into hot white rage burning inside him when Serpine cut Karath's ropes and pulled her close by the long braid that tumbled down her body, making the girl cry out in pain.

“Serpine! They don't have anything to do with this! Let them go!”

Serpine laughed and pulled sharply at Kara's hair, just for the fun of it and for seeing his arch enemy's face contort in pain he did not even feel. “But au contraire, my dear friend. They have EVERYTHING to do with this little revolution you have going on. Is your wife not fighting in the first row alongside the Dead Men?”

When Skulduggery remained silent, Serpine laughed toothily. “You see, simply for that I could charge her with high treason. However, she and her lovely daughter play yet another role in this story for they are the means to not only break you but to also discourage your troops. When your soldiers or that laughable bunch of rebels you have come to call an army see that all it took to turn you into a begging puddle were a mere woman and child they will lose hope, faith and courage. And probably it will have them revaluate their poor decision for making you their pathetic first lieutenant.”

“Or they will be outraged and rip you and Mevolent into tiny little pieces”, Skulduggery sneered, always keeping an eye on his family.

“I shall doubt it. But let us not get lost in politics for it is dry and boring matter and we have more entertaining business to attend to tonight. For example, I would like to hear you scream and beg.” With that Serpine pushed Karath to the floor what caused her scars on hands and knees to bleed again. She quickly scrambled out of his reach and crept closer to her father until she sat at his feet, clutching his left leg. Both watched in horror as Serpine approached Nemesis and had her writs freed. The Twins immediately grabbed her by her upper arms as if their lives depended on it.

Skulduggery frowned as Nemesis did not make an attempt of snapping her fingers. “Fight!”, he whispered more to himself than to anyone.

“We can't”, Kara peeped from below and looked up to her father. “It is because of the shots.”

Serpine must have seen the confusion on Skulduggery's face and the quiet voice of his daughter because he held up a small glass vial filled with a peculiar fluid. “Quite right. Nashers. Ever so tiny translucent creatures that feed on magic. Injected into a mage's bloodstream, they cling to everything magical and feast on the energy, consequently cutting the sorcerer off his magical powers. Unfortunately, they die rather quickly. Thus, injections have to be provided once every four hours.”

Nashers.

Skulduggery had never heard of them before and was prone to call his captor a liar yet when he looked more closely, the liquid seemed to have a will of its own as it moved gently from one glass wall to the other and generally defied that laws of physic. Small pillars of liquid rose from the surface and fell back into the mass while Serpine kept his hand perfectly still and balanced.

Yet, none of these pretty little details could make Skulduggery burn up with as much rage as did Serpine himself by lifting Nemesis' chin.

“You are pretty.”

“Don't you DARE -”, Skulduggery roared but he needn't have bothered.

Nemesis, a fighter herself and despiser of everything Serpine stood for, turned her head away, her lips curled in a disgusted manner. In a swift motion she pulled her arms free. They were covered in a slimy substance, she had managed to conjure with what little magic was beginning to return to her. Having her hands free, she swung at Serpine, her fist smashing square in his face.

“I don't take compliments from filth like you!”

Nemesis was not a woman to mess with, especially not when she was enraged and now she let a fast succession of punches and kicks hail down on Serpine who shouted for The Twins to restrain her. He had been so surprised by the attack he had completely forgotten his major weapon.

An anguished scream ripped through the hall when Serpine finally managed to point his crimson finger at Nemesis. Her screams spiralled ever up and up as she writhed on the floor with her husband and daughter staring in shock, finding themselves glued to the spot uselessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and let me know what you like and what should be improved! =)


	3. Nemesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

At the first sound of pain coming from her mother, Karath had sprung to her feet, gazing in horror at the scene unfolding before her. It was Skulduggery who pulled her from her frozen state. Not ever did he want to have his daughter watch her mother suffering from Serpine's red hand.

“Kara! Look at me! Look at me! Don't watch! Kara!”

In a fast swivel the girl turned to her father, wrapped her arms around his body and buried her face at his chest. Skulduggery winced and grimaced from the pain as the knife in his shoulder shifted and cut through another inch of flesh but no sound came from his mouth. His mind was dazed and blank. This was a dream, he would be waking covered in sweat and his hair sticking to his brow. He would wake. Now. Wake! But of course he did not.

Skulduggery's gaze was fixed on his wife's curled up figure on the floor, he barely registered her sobs and begs that now mingled with the screams. Something inside his head screamed at him to do something, free her, think of a master plan and get his family out of there. 

Kill Serpine. 

It was this thought that catapulted him back to the here and now and his eyes became dark with hatred. His features bore an expression that seemed unsure whether to settle on grim or desperate.

“Kara”, he whispered and waited until his daughter looked up. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now and her green eyes were puffy and red from crying. “Kara, darling. You have to trust me now. Pull the knife from my shoulder and cut my bonds.”

The girl's eyes widened for she realized of course that drawing a knife from a body caused a lot of distress and she shook her head, hesitantly. “I can't … hurt you.”

A shrill scream echoed through the hall and Skulduggery closed his eyes, feeling tears fighting their way through the lashes and a sob rose up in his throat making his voice thick. “It is the only way to save your mother. Kara, please, you have to trust me.”

With a shaky hand Kara reached out to the hilt of the dagger and closed her small hand around it, while never breaking eye contact with her father. When he nodded once she slowly and carefully started to pull the blade from the shoulder.

Skulduggery wanted to scream, to yell at her to move faster but his face remained stoic and he flinched but occasionally when the pain became close to unbearable. The last thing Kara needed now was him telling her that the slower she moved, the more pain she was causing him and thus he remained quiet, swallowing even the littlest moan that threatened to come over his lips. Finally, the dagger was out and Skulduggery visibly relaxed, his breath was hitching and he had to stifle yet another moan.

Kara wrapped her arms around her father once more as if she were hiding her face from the terror behind her and shakily started to saw at the ropes.

“Serpine, stop this madness! Please!”

The screaming ceased and quiet whimpers took their place. Surprised, Serpine turned his head to his arch enemy. “So soon? I haven't even started yet.”

“Let them go -”

“And have Nemesis take your place among the Dead Men? Having her leading the attacks? As much as I like seeing women in key positions, I cannot possibly do that. She shares your believes which are quite different from mine last time I checked.”

“It is fine, Skulduggery”, Nemesis now spoke up. She had taken the chance and gotten to her shaky legs. Skulduggery could see the pain edged in her face and the way she stooped ever so slightly showed him that she was still fighting to overcome both the physical pain as well as the Nashers. Their eyes locked and Nemesis nodded. Do everything it takes to save her. Everything, her look was telling him.

Suddenly, his suppressed magic returned like a flood might overtake a village when the dam cracks and eventually breaks. He hoped the little gasp that escaped his mouth went unnoticed by Serpine as his bonds were cut entirely.

Nemesis saw the slight change of expression in Skulduggery's face, a certain tension and determination that had begun to become more prominent among fear and hopelessness. She had no idea what he was up to or whether he had an even remotely decent plan, yet she acted fast. Hurtling at Serpine she gave Kara time to move out of the way and Skulduggery to snap his fingers and fill both his hands with furious flames. 

The first fireball hit Serpine in the back and his coat took to burning. Skulduggery did not waste time drawing his arm back for another precise toss but smashed into Serpine, pressing his flaming hand into his chest. Now, his torso was blazing bright with the flames licking at the fabric of his clothes.

Skulduggery and Nemesis leaped back, warily watching the scene before them, ready to throw another fireball or swing a well aimed punch to knock Serpine out, who was staggering about the hall like a drunk candle. And then he straightened up and laughed. With a swoosh the flames died out and the patches of skin and clothes that only seconds ago had been charred and smoking, looked like no flame had ever touched them. Serpine had remained unharmed and unscathed and a broad grin appeared on his triumphant face.

“Nothing like good acting, right?” In the blink of an eye his expression changed from amused by their petty attack to downright scornful. “Did you really think you two could stand against someone like me?”, Serpine shouted. “Fireballs and punches! Pathetic! I will show you what real magic is!”

A dismissive gesture of his right hand and Nemesis was sent careening back against the wall, her body smashing into it, pressing the air out of her lungs. The impact had been so hard, she couldn't have gone without bones broken. 

“That has always been your weakness hasn't it? You don't kill unless it is truly necessary but let me tell you that in my case it would have saved the both of you a lot of trouble.”  
“We are no executioners, Serpine. You will be brought to justice but not by us; we will be the ones delivering you to the Elders”, Nemesis hissed, pain showing in her features.

“And I cannot let that happen.” Serpine laughed. “You should have killed me when you had the chance. Count this on you, Skulduggery and watch closely”, Serpine whispered and his index finger that was still pointed at Nemesis to keep her in place against the wall described a small half circle in the air.

Nemesis' neck broke like a twig.

No. A dream. Nothing more. You will wake up and she will be lying next to you. She is safe. Kara is safe. Just a dream.

Don't be silly, a little voice spoke within him. This is no more a dream than the ongoing war outside this castle's gates. She is gone. She will never return and you know it. She is dead. Dead.

Karath's screaming and Serpine's laughing, violently pulled Skulduggery from his thoughts. His head was spinning and he had no control over his legs anymore, staggering two steps back. It was surreal how Nemesis lay there on the stone floor, her neck bending to an unnatural degree while her green eyes that had been so full of life only moments before, stared blankly at the ceiling.

Kara ran to her mother, heedless of the danger Serpine posed. However, he let her reach Nemesis and kneel beside her. Curiously he watched the girl cry silently over her mother's corpse, her slim body shaking violently from the sobs.

“Fascinating, isn't it? How emotion can mess with a person's head. But you will see, in a few days she will have forgotten her sorrow and be the same as ever. Provided, you save her of course but I am not a monster. I challenge you to a duel with blades. Fair and square, no cheating. If you beat me, you and your daughter are free to go, obviously. If I win … well, let's not get into detail.”

Skulduggery slowly turned his head to Serpine and while his ashen face showed no emotion, apart from the hot tears on his cheeks, running from his burning eyes that shone with flaming hatred stirred up by sorrow. Although Serpine was physically weaker than Skulduggery, he had the audacity to challenge him to a duel with swords. What was he thinking? Did he have another ace up his sleeve? In the end it was the prospect of receiving a weapon that made him agree with the horrendous terms. When at last he spoke his voice was hoarse and barely audible. “I accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and let me know how you like it! =D


	4. Duel to the Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

Skulduggery weighed the dagger Serpine had handed him hilt first and closed the fingers of his right hand around the Spartan hilt. The weapon was well balanced and lay firmly in his grip, although the handle was slightly sticky. Skulduggery shuddered at the thought of all the people who had placed their dwindling hope and only chance of escaping on this thin curved blade and failed at reclaiming their freedom.

Taking several deep breaths, Skulduggery concentrated on the task before him: killing Serpine. There would be no more hesitation this time. His hand shot forward like a snake's head but Serpine had expected the strike and easily parried the blow with his dagger which was wavy and extremely narrow, reminding Skulduggery of a needle.

Serpine took a step to the side and Skulduggery's next blow met thin air and he staggered. When he turned round to meet Serpine, his vision blurred for the fraction of a second and the blade sliced into his left arm. Crying out Skulduggery jumped out of reach and prepared for the next strike.

Kara watched the fight with anxiety and a frown dug into her brow as she saw her father stagger about like a puppet on strings, seemingly losing control over his limbs. Knowing from countless hours she had taken to watch her parents spar together, her father moved like a panther, his movements smooth and clear. What was unfolding before her eyes, was far from smooth or even coordinated; Skulduggery tripped on a tile on the floor that was not fitted perfectly and crashed to the ground.

Serpine strolled over to his prisoner as if he did not have a care in the world, as if he didn't have to be wary of Skulduggery suddenly springing to his feet and burying the dagger in his black heart.

As far as Kara could tell, Serpine really did not have to be worried about Skulduggery. He was lying on his side, propping up his torso on his elbow while his breath came in ragged pants and he kept his lips pressed together as if he were fighting off a wave of pain. The one or other time he waved his hand in front of his face as if he wanted to disperse an invisible mist only he could see while his eyes blinked rapidly to get rid of something.

“Daddy!”

Serpine approached the girl and crouched down beside her, putting an arm around her slim shoulders, causing Skulduggery to roar in anger and trying to scramble to his feet again. 

“Your daddy has been poisoned, my dear. No, not fatally!”, he added smiling when he saw Kara's shocked face. “Fuelled with all this raw rage as he is I could not risk to pick a fight with him for he would have without doubt decapitated me. As soon as he touched the hilt of the dagger I carefully handed him, he was doomed. The poison running in his veins now will impair his strength, his vision and his movements in general, slowing him down.”

“You are a coward!”, Kara shouted and rammed the knife she had kept and hidden behind her back into Serpine's thigh before springing to her feet and making for a mad dash across the throne room.

“Run, Kara. Run!” Skulduggery whispered as he watched his daughter disappear in a bank of fog that materialized out of thin air in front of his eyes. “Save us.”

Run, Kara! RUN! Don't stop! Don't look back!, the girl thought as she flew over the stone floor swift as a deer. Tears were streaming down her pale face freely as she ran from her dead mother. As she left her father to his ill fate but she knew it was up to her to seek help and to find someone capable of … of killing that monster.

Skulduggery gathered all his willpower to stagger to his quivering feet grasping the cursed dagger in his right and sluggishly made his way over to where Serpine was just getting to his feet again.

With a cry of pain Serpine pulled the knife from his flesh in a fast motion and turned to the fleeing girl, his face a contorted mask of hatred. He was about to wave his hand and catch her in her flight when Skulduggery crashed into him with a desperate shout, the blade he was wielding missing his throat by a hair's breadth. Had Skulduggery been in his normal state of mind, he never would have missed; then the dagger would have broken the delicate skin above Serpine's white collar and drawn a fine line that would have killed him within mere seconds. Poisoned by venom and sorrow as Skulduggery was, all Serpine had to do was to lazily shake the man off and wave his hand in his direction to send him sprawling on the ground.

Kara had almost reached the heavy wooden doors and only now it dawned upon her that she probably did not possess the strength to pull them open. Still, she bore on, the desperation giving her the courage to hope against all odds that she would make it out of the castle alive this day. Suddenly, she saw movement. Behind the massive stone pillars that stood at either side of the gate, guards and Twins had been lurking in the shadows in case their aid was needed. Now, they came at the girl from both sides and Kara could hear fingers snapping and blades being unsheathed. Orders were bellowed and the handful fighters positioned themselves in a rhombus-shaped formation but the girl with the flying braid never stopped. This was her only chance of saving her father.

On the other side of the room Serpine had bent at his waist and grabbed a handful of Skulduggery's brown hair and roughly pulled him onto his knees before crouching behind him and bringing his smile at his prisoner's ear.

“Like I already pointed out, I am not a monster. Karath got me fair and square and I am willing to give her a chance. How long do you think she will last against five mages and four Twins?” Serpine seemed to enjoy himself greatly as his lips contorted in a mocking grin Skulduggery could not see.

The rage flooding Skulduggery's body expressed itself in a fighting growl as he struggled to free himself and for a moment his head was clear and the fog was lifted. What he saw made his chest swell with pride.

Kara was small and quick when it came to moving. She had already told her parents that she wanted to become an Adept and specialize in swiftness and agility. With magic flowing through her veins she was able to move so fast she became a blur to any mortal eye. Her quick turns and high leaps stood proof that she was capable of improving and sharpen her movements by pouring magic into them at will. Now, that magic was falling short on her Kara felt heavy and awkward, almost ponderous, yet to an onlooker she still was incredibly swift.

In a fast motion she circled around the first guard on her tip-toes like a ballet dancer, sprang and pushed herself off of the thigh of a Twin, soaring higher into the air. Spinning in the air, Kara described a small arc over the head of a guard in the third row and landed before two Twins.

“An Adept!” a mage managed to cry a warning.

Feigning right and ducking low beneath a shrieking blade she rolled over the floor and got to her feet again in a flow behind the foremost line of the formation. The last mage between her and the door to freedom was left gasping for air when Kara kicked him in the balls and pushed him out of the way, finally reaching for the iron handles of the door.

With a cry of pain Kara let go of the metal bar that was glowing bright orange in the somewhat dim yellowish light of the hundreds of candled that lit up the throne room, casting eerie shadows on the heavy tapestries. With tears stinging in her eyes she clutched the badly burnt hand to her chest and frantically looked for another way out. There was none.

An energy blast hit her in the shoulder and even though the mage had refrained from using too much power she went down screaming. A pair of Twins picked the girl up and dragged her before Serpine who pushed Skulduggery to the ground, knowing he would not dare to make a false move and pulled Kara in front of him by her auburn braid.

“I am sorry, Daddy!” she sobbed, her burnt hand cradled at her belly.

“You have nothing to feel sorry about, sweetheart. I am the one who should be apologizing. I was not there when you needed me, I let you down.” Skulduggery was on his knees now in front of his daughter and met her eye. “We love you, Kara. You made me and your mother proud and not just today. I am sorry I could not save her.” His voice choked and he had to bow his head.

Kara sniffled and longingly looked over to her mother's unmoving body as if she could resurrect her by mere power of will. It could not have been more than half an hour since Nemesis had taken Death's hand and followed her over the threshold into the world of shadows; yet Kara thought it must have been an eternity.

“That is so charming, really!” Serpine exclaimed mockingly and a cruel smile split his face. “However, not even you, the O so great Skulduggery Pleasant could have prevented this, had you been there. Nemesis is as much a hardened fighter as you are, my friend. But sometimes our enemies hide behind a mask of beauty and charm us with sweet words, make us believe in them, make us trust them.”

Skulduggery was silent for a moment as the ciphered information reluctantly trickled into his brain. “A traitor”, he croaked, all fighting will drained from his body.


	5. Beautiful Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!! CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 'SKULDUGGERY PLEASANT - DARK DAYS'! However, you can safely skip this chapter since it does not add to the main story and it is merely a bonus chapter I added AFTER I completed the story. Don't worry, I'll upload the 6th chapter as well so everyone will have something to read.

Two days ago ...

“The task at hand will not put too much strain on you, will it? I will not tolerate that emotions get the better of you.” Serpine sat down in his massive chair that perched on top of a stunning flight of stairs, giving everyone who sat in it kingly feelings indeed and he made no exceptions. Suspiciously, he looked down at the cloaked and hooded figure.

A laugh as clear as a silver fountain tumbling down from a mountain – and equally freezing. “No worries, I am already at my best. And I did not get there by playing softly; leave it to me to lure them in and just be ready to spring the trap at the right moment.”

Normally, Serpine would have had anyone who dared to talk in such an impudent, almost dominant tone to him either beheaded or staked. None of his underlings would have thought about speaking to their master in such a bossy manner, yet his visitor was not a mere follower. “I am curious regarding your motives. What did you lay your eye upon that you are changing affiliations all of a sudden? What could possibly have you stab your friends in the back?”

“I don't have friends, only conveniences and sworn enemies. As for my reasons, rest assured they are strong enough to see this through to the end.”

The flash of a smile and when the figure turned to leave, the two guards at either side of the throne dropped to their knees and begged the woman not to leave; one of them even sobbed.

Serpine sighed and massaged his furrowing brow, his face showing the tortured expression of a man that is completely done for. “And I call these my men?”

Being used to these sort of reactions, world's most beautiful woman paid no heed to the pleas and gracefully left the throne room. After all, she had a task to fulfil.

“What news?” Nemesis asked as the door swung open and a cloaked person stepped into the chamber, inviting a gust of chilly wind inside. She tensed as she saw who was making herself at home at the small table. “Where is Roaring?”

“Dead. He was carrying a message from Skulduggery. Unfortunately I came too late to save him, but with his last strength he pressed the note into my hand and asked me to deliver it to you.” A warm smile that did not quite reach her steel blue eyes accompanied the words that tumbled like honey from her lips.

“You running errands now, China? I didn't think you would ever step off your high horse.” There had always been a certain tension between the two women, from the second they met and with each encounter this stiffness increased.

“You are pretty”, Kara pointed out and hopped off the bed in the corner of the small hut where she had passed the time reading a novel about a group of adventurers that sought to reclaim a lost kingdom. “Mommy is prettier, though”, she added, wrinkling her nose before grinning apologetically at her unintended rudeness.

China laughed her silver laugh and reached into her pocket to retrieve a crinkled piece of yellowish paper, handing it to Nemesis who still had a frown on her face but took the note all the same. 

“The code”, she said plainly. “Roaring would not have given you the note without the code since he knows I will not take action without verification that this letter was indeed written by Skulduggery.”

A warm smile played around the corners of China's mouth as she nodded. It reminded Nemesis of a snake. “Certainly. That would be 'One thing worth fighting for'.

Jaw set, brow still in furrows, Nemesis opened the envelope and began to read and with every line her expression darkened. When she had finished, she raised her hand in the direction of the fireplace, extinguishing the flames with one small gesture. “Kara, get your boots and jacket. We are leaving.”

Is this it? Is this the moment I leave everything I love behind?, Nemesis thought. It had always been clear to her that she would take her place as a soldier in the front row for in a war, everyone was needed. The one thing worth fighting for: life itself. Nemesis was willing to fight for her and her family's life until the bitter end even if that meant to leave Kara behind.

“What? Why?”, the girl asked confused but did as she was bidden. Kara had learnt over the years that it was better to follow earnest orders without hesitation for it could mean death or life. Only moments later she stood beside her mother, ready to follow her into the unknown.

“Daddy wrote us a letter and told us to meet him at some mage's refuge.”

“Where is he? Is he alright?” Kara brimmed with joy at the thought of her father, eyes shining bright with happiness.

“Daddy is fine, darling. He is very close to finding a means to stop this stupid war.”

Pity that it must end so. A young life wasted, China thought and opened the door for them to file out of the house. She allowed herself the thinnest of smiles as she followed Skulduggery's family out into the cold of the night. The note had been an excellent forgery, one that had taken a skilled mage such as her four days to complete. It had to be perfect since everything had to perfect with China Sorrows; every little detail had to be thought of. How she had coincidentally overheard the code Skulduggery had whispered to his wife during that cold night. Her little scheme had worked out smoothly so far even if that hag Nemesis did not trust her as far as she could throw her. Well, not that it mattered now, the mission was almost over.

A few yards from the house stood an ordinary looking man with a boring face and even more boring hairdo. His expression was emotionless with a hint of – how else could it be – boredom.

“This is Morton Ashen. He is a teleporter I have hired to bring me here. Is there anywhere he can drop you off?”

Nemesis scowled. This situation was not to her liking, not one bit but to reach the cave Skulduggery had named in the letter a teleporter came in more than handy, especially with Kara. Yet,wasn't this a little too convenient? A teleporter when they needed one? What was more, how could Skulduggery expect Kara to toil along through snow and ice only to meet him? It was a selfish and dumb request and something seemed not right but Nemesis could not place her finger on what it was. In the end it was reason that got the better of her and she reached out to Kara and the teleporter.

“Cave of the Forgotten.”

“Aye.”

As soon as China had taken Kara's and the teleporter's hands they were in a dim cave or at least that was where they expected to be.

In a split second Nemesis took in the situation and pulling Kara close to her body she conjured a wall of air with one hand, shielding them from an energy blast that would not have killed them but certainly knocked some dents into them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ashen and China vanish into thin air.

The teleporter had dropped them off in a gargantuan hall or rather a medieval throne room that stretched wide to either side of them. Closed wooden doors that sported iron fittings forming an intricate pattern to their right and a massive throne befitting Serpine's ego to their left. Even more more important was, however, where Ashen had abandoned them before high tailing it and leaving them to a fate worse than death. A ring of sorcerers in black robes closed in around them and Nemesis conjured a small air bubble around Kara before snapping her fingers, hurling a fireball at the closest mage whose robe took to burning.

Kara had seen battle before, yet that had been from far off at a save distance and she had admired the soldier's courage and will to fight but being in the centre of a skirmish herself paralysed her to the spot and she huddled beneath the cracking air shield of her mother. She shrieked with fear as energy sizzled past and fireballs exploded all around her, while shadows licked at the invisible wall separating her from the fight. The girl clasped her hands on her head, shrinking down beneath her protective shield that slowly but relentlessly started to dissolve. She looked up right in time to see a necromancer club her mother over the head with the metal end of his cane, making her stumble back, blood running from a nasty gash on her brow, yet she fought on and that was when Kara made a desperate decision.

The shield cracked and finally broke from the relentless onslaught of the assembled mages but when they sent shadows to capture the girl they had to learn that she had vanished.

The necromancer wielding a cane cried out as the staff was ripped from his hand by a seemingly invisible force shortly before he felt it crack against his shin and backside.

Confusion spread among the mages for a few moments but this short amount of time was all Nemesis needed to take down two Elementals and relieve yet another necromancer of his magical object, rendering his powers useless.

“An Adept! The girl is an Adept! Catch – “ The speaker was left breathless when the staff came out of nowhere and smacked into his groin, leaving him with a dumb expression on his face before he fell flat on it.

“Kara, run!” Nemesis shouted over the ruckus of the battle and smashed her fist into a mage's surprised face.

One more necromancer went down, tangled in his own shadows as Kara dashed past him, lashing out with her cane as hard as she could whereupon he dropped to the floor unconscious.

The tables turned, however, as the mages began to adapt to the girl's speed. Now that they knew her powers they were able to assimilate to the speed with which she was moving and soon shadows wrapped around her ankles and wrists, snatching the stolen cane from her grip and bringing her on her knees, tentacles coiling up beside her, waiting, lurking.

Nemesis still fought on like a cornered wolf, oblivious to the fate of her daughter and snarling she sent fire ball after fire ball into the mages, lashing out with water she drained from the air and conjured blasts of wind that heaved the one or other sorcerer off his feet. However, her magical attacks were met with walls of shadow and energy, forcing her to use kicks and punches in between. Nemesis danced across the stone tiles, ever ducking, swirling and lashing out until a tender shadow tentacle tripped her and she barely avoided a fireball aimed at her chest. She rolled over the floor and smoothly got to her feet again when an energy blast hit her full in the stomach and sent her back into the waiting arms of two necromancers who immediately ordered their shadows to wound around Nemesis' arms and legs.

Moaning Nemesis raised her head and only now she was able to see her captured daughter. “No”, she whispered and frantically strained against the shadows. “Let her go. She is but a child!”

“All the more effective, then”, droned a voice from the wooden doors and Nemesis turned her head in time to see a pale man stride into the hall, closely followed by world's most beautiful woman.

“How could you, China?”, Nemesis screamed at the approaching woman. “How can you live with yourself any longer, you piece of -?”

“That is enough!” Serpine interrupted sharply and for a long moment he studied his prisoners. “Take them away but treat them well.” He turned to leave. “I still need them.”


	6. One Thing Worth Fighting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is short, but hey...

“We didn't know she could not be trusted, Daddy! It was - “ A gurgling sound drowned out the words Kara wanted to blurt out to warn her father not to make the same mistake she and Nemesis had. To put trust in the wrong people.

Skulduggery watched in horror as his daughter, his Kara clutched at her throat, crimson blood running through her fingers, her green eyes were calling for help before life slowly ran out of them like sand through an hour glass.

“No ...”, Skulduggery sobbed, tears dropping heavily on the cold floor. “No, Kara ...” 

Serpine let go of the girl and pushed her into his enemy who caught her in a tight embrace. A futile and overall naïve attempt of keeping life inside her slim body that seemed so fragile in his arms.

Serpine stepped back smiling, the bloodied dagger still in his hand and blissfully took in the picture before him: the father whose body shook with violent sobs and whose face was screwed up in pain, a silent scream of agony on his lips as he held his dead daughter in his arms.

“Kara, darling. Kara … No! Kara, I love you!” Skulduggery whispered and buried his face at Kara's neck, paying the warm blood that still trickled from the cut no heed. No thoughts of revenge crossed his mind. All he wanted was to have his wife and daughter back and vengeance could not grant him that wish. Nothing and nobody could.

He was alone.


	7. Dead Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another short chapter before I give you the last one which should crush your hearts.

The army of rebels, a mixed bunch of Sanctuary mages, soldiers, veterans and opposers of the Faceless Ones had come to a stop before the massive stairs that led to the huge iron gate. They had set their camp in the vast area of the castle's yard, fifty feet from the protective power shield Serpine had conjured to cover the main building of the stronghold. Small fires were lit all over the grassy field of the French castle and the sorcerers huddled together around them, their voices dark and quiet for they all knew who their host was.

Around such a fire sat six men, sticking their heads together, bantering and bickering as they always did and not even the looming shadow of Serpine's castle could sour their mood. They were the Dead Men, having earned their uplifting name for being the suicide squad of the Sanctuary. Missions no one wanted, no one would have returned from, they accepted with a sheepish grin and a wink. And always they returned.

“Why do you think he ordered us here?”, a blond good-looking man asked.

“You know him Vex, he will not explain until we see it for ourselves and then he will claim all the honour and fame again because we are too busy gaping at whatever insanity he managed to come up with ”, answered the man who sat next to him and laughed. “Hell, his stratagems never work out like he has outlined them but somehow that basterd never runs out of luck.”

The man addressed as Vex chuckled as well. “You're right, Ravel. Nothing like a chaotic plan Skul came up with. What was it they say about brilliancy; the line that separates it from madness is a fine one and he uses it as a skipping rope.”

“Still I am wondering what we are doing here on the enemy's doorstep”, Saracen Rue mused and looked into the fire, gloomily. “That is nothing he would do without explaining. We are talking about Serpine, right? The right hand of Mevolent and we are cowering on his welcome mat like a sitting duck. Anyone bring a pan to fry us in?”

“We scouted the terrain. While it is not fully safe to squat in this place, there is no imminent danger to be found – well apart from Serpine but he is alone in his castle and heavily outnumbered.” Anton Shudder's expression was stern and serious as usual as he outlined the facts. His dark and gloomy appearance could not fool the other Dead Men anymore for they all had become aware that deep down Shudder was actually a gentle soul.

“You knowing things again, Saracen?”, a tall broad man asked. His entire head and face were covered in symmetrical scars but none of the other men seemed to mind his ghastly aspect. And indeed he was known as Ghastly Bespoke. Although his face showed a warm and somewhat bemused smile, behind this merry façade there was anxiousness that involuntarily built up inside him whenever Saracen got a hunch but was missing the final piece to be certain.

“Hm, it is more like a bad gut feeling this time. Nothing sure, like it is behind a wall of fog and I can't peek through. There is something big coming yet I haven't got a damn clue what it could be, only that it is gonna be bad. You think, Skulduggery is alright?”

“Skulduggery is not even remotely in the area of fightings, he simply wanted to meet someone who could get us a clear advantage in this never ending skirmish”, Vex tried to calm his friend and fellow Dead Man.

“Ha, as if Skul needed an invitation to find trouble.” Larrikin, ladies and gentlemen, jester of the troupe. “If you put that man into the dessert he would start digging until he found something worth punching.”

A round of warm laughter rose up over the otherwise gloomy camp and although the doubts nagging at Saracen did not disappear, he joined the others in their merry mood. He could see other mages shaking their heads at them and flashed them a white grin.


	8. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks, the final chapter. However, the utter and complete lovely LionsandTrolls managed to squeeze an Epilogue out of me, so keep looking forward to that.

The earth rumbled and a sorceress gave a warning cry, pointing at the heavy gates of the castle that slowly began to open, scraping over the stones. A wave rippled through the mages and within seconds they were battle-ready: hands were filled with fire or crackling energy, staffs were lighting up and additional shields were conjured around the camp. Rifles, shotguns and revolvers clicked into readiness and swords were drawn and shields were strapped to forearms while others gripped their axes, katanas and even maces tighter.

Then they waited.

Serpine strode out of the open gate and halted on top of the stairs, looking down at the assembled forces of the first lieutenant he had broken and shattered. A smile appeared on his face as he spotted the Dean Men in the first row. They never stood anywhere else and had pushed to the front when the soldiers had gone into battle formation.

“Mages! Rebels!” Serpine shouted and his voice was magically amplified to hover over the army. “I must admit, you showing up here in front of my stronghold in just two days is remarkable. You truly must trust your leader a great deal.”

Saracen sneered but inside his stomach turned over, an icy ball of fear knotted his insides for he knew now. The message Skulduggery had sent them, had not been written by him at all. “It is a trap!”, he hissed and the Dead Men around him looked surprised but when they saw the pearls of sweat forming on his forehead and his locked jaw, they were certain he was telling the truth. Saracen Rue knew things and he was never wrong.

“Gathering you here spares me a lot of trouble - “

“What do you want, Serpine?” Larrikin shouted, his face set and grim. He might have been scared to death of what was heading down the road towards them but he was a Dead Man after all and it was his job to laugh Death in the face.

“Talk.”

Snorts were heard throughout the assembled mages and someone further back blurted out a 'Yeah, right!'

Serpine smiled humbly as he continued. “And I would like to give back something I took from you.”

Murmurs grew louder as assumptions were shared with the man or woman on either side and loomed above the mages' heads like a portentous cloud, ready to rain down evil upon them. 

Dexter gave a gasp with the rest of the Dead Men when he saw two Twins drag the limp form of a woman out of the gate of the castle. She held her head low which rolled from one side to the other in a sickening manner and even the newest recruits could tell that her neck was broken.

Waiting for a signal from their master, the man and the woman looked at Serpine with their grey eyes and when he lifted his hand and nodded his approval, they tossed the dead body down the stairs.

Nemesis came to a halt right in front of Larrikin and Ravel who stared at their friend in shock before slowly kneeling down next to her. The irate uproar of the rebels went unnoticed by the Dead Men who one by one knelt at Nemesis' body, placing a hand over their hearts in a silent display of respect. They all had come to equally like and respect her and each had spent some hours in the training court with Nemesis, sat around a camp fire at night and had both laughed and suffered at her side over the years. Only half a year ago Saracen had brought up the topic of making her an honoured member of the Dead Men – to help them out when needed – which nobody opposed to and after she had gone through the ritual of having every Dead Man (even her husband) punch her in the face as hard as they could, they had sat together, spinning tales of the future, laughing and being merry.

When Ghastly looked into the faces of his friends he could see his feelings mirrored in their features: anger, hopelessness, sorrow. Carefully, they lifted the dead body of Nemesis above their heads and passed her on to the next few mages and like this she was slowly carried further back until the last soldier laid her down on a makeshift bed and knelt next to her one last time. Respectfully he closed her eyes and draped a blanket over the body for she had been an inspiring figure not only to the suicide squad.

The Dead Men were still standing with their backs to the ever smiling Serpine, hands on their hearts and trusting their men to give warning shouts should danger close in. When cries arose, however, everyone wished they had not spun round.

A guard in shining mail carried a child over the threshold of the castle. The long braid dangled down over his arm and the fragile form of the girl was curled up against his chest as he stepped forward with a hard expression on his face; whether it was boredom or pity none might say.

Kara.

Ghastly was not able to tell whether Kara was still alive but seeing the grin on Serpine's face he knew that he should abandon all hope for it had forsaken these lands.

The shiny soldier carelessly dropped the child down the stairs where she rolled through Serpine's shield that was supposed to keep people out, not in.

Anton Shudder was the first to move. He never might have shown it as openly as his friends but he had loved both Nemesis and Kara and seeing them treated like this, made him want to puke right on Serpine's polished boots. Carefully, he scooped Kara up in his arms, as if she had just fallen asleep next to the camp fire like had happened so often. Back then the Dead Men had often silently wrestled among them to earn the right to to tuck her in until they had to learn that either Nemesis or Skulduggery had already seen to that while they were still fighting and mouthing abuse to one another.

Now Shudder turned to the crowd that had fallen silent and began to walk. Tears were burning in his eyes as the mages and soldiers silently cleared a path for Anton to stride through. When he looked down at her, Karath really seemed to simply sleep in his arms but when he laid her next to her mother the fine red line on her throat became wider until Shudder could see how deep Serpine had actually cut to drain life out of her. Lips pressed together and eyes watery he draped the blanket over mother and daughter before standing. With a swoosh the noise around him returned to him; he had been caught up in happier memories, completely drowning out the raging mages – and the screaming.

The moment Shudder had crossed half the yard, Serpine had given his guards another sign whereupon they had dragged a third person out of the castle and even though he didn't look it, this person was still alive.

“I give you Skulduggery Pleasant!” cried Serpine and spread his arms as if to embrace the entire army. “World's most impudent mage and pathetic leader!”

Meanwhile the guards pushed their prisoner to the ground where he remained for a moment before he fought himself onto his knees. None of the guards stopped him and although he had no visible bonds on him, the Dead Man did not fight.

During the first few seconds, the Dead Men stared, dumbfounded; even Saracen was caught off guard. None of them had expected to see their friend and fellow conspirator in any other place than aboard a genius contraption, grinning like the madman he was.

How will we tell him? That question had flashed up in each of the Dead Men's minds when they had laid their eyes upon the mutilated bodies of Nemesis and Kara. Now it dawned upon them that Skulduggery had more than likely witnessed their deaths himself. He held his head low, staring at the ground blankly while tears glistened on his cheeks and it was clear to everyone that there existed no more fighting spirit in Skulduggery.

“I have to admit, they put up quite a fight, even the little one outwitted nine guards but in the end, I got what I wanted, is that not right, Skulduggery?”

“What do you still want with me? You took everything I cared about from me”, he croaked, matted hair hanging in his face while his eyes had become dull and glassy. “You ripped my soul out and stomped on it regardless the shatters you left.” He was crying even more now, his body shaking with sobs. “You killed them”, he whispered almost too softly for the Dead Men to hear.

Serpine only laughed and shrugged. “I kill a lot of people. Eventually also you will have to face Death, my friend.”

“Alright, so it's my turn. Then kill me! DO IT! JUST DO IT!!” Skulduggery screamed and spread his arms wide to expose even more of his battered and trembling body.

“NO!”, Ghastly shouted in the same instant as Serpine pointed his red hand at Skulduggery who crumbled and started to scream. 

“Break this damn shield down!” Larrikin bellowed.

There was a big commotion and the mages attacked Serpine's power shield with everything they had. Crackling energy hit the invisible wall and evaporated like a drop of water might on a hot stone while a real firestorm, conjured by a group of mages, broke on the shield which still withstood every magical or non magical onslaught.

Ravel knew they had not nearly enough time to think of something witty and functional to save their friend from an agonising death; taking down a shield generally required an amount of time and force the did not have. He winced as Skulduggery's screams spiralled ever up and up as he writhed on top of the stairs. Still he fought on to crack the shield with all his might.

Then all was silent. No screaming, no raging. Just the wind rustling in the scarce leaves on the trees in the yard and they all knew.

Skulduggery Pleasant was dead.


	9. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, been busy studying. But here you go, another fresh chapter! The fic will become longer still, I have stumbled upon some new ideas while studying...

Rage.

Smouldering pitch black rage was the first thing Skulduggery's mind registered after his consciousness had been restored to life. How this was possible he could not fathom and if he was truly honest to himself he did not care one bit. Unlike numerous people who had received a kick to the head – or in his case been killed – Skulduggery did not suffer amnesia or short term memory loss after the ill-fated events his brain had begged to shut out. Every detail was razor sharp before his eyes: the grey emptiness in Nemesis's eyes, the life leaving Kara's body, the horror-stricken faces of his friends.

Skulduggery felt the fury cloud his mind again and had he been able to, he would have screamed out his grief and agony for the world to hear. Why was he still alive? Why could he not have stayed dead? He had been comfortable in the void, a place where he felt no pain and no sorrow could touch him. Hope had been an alien concept just like existence itself and he had been floating in an infinite cascade of nothingness. Skulduggery was not sure if he even remembered the void correctly or if this waking was the same as jerking up from sleep with the echoes of a peculiar dream still lingering inside the mind. Either way, important right now was the fact that he had been granted a second chance – however reluctant he felt about it after all that had happened, after all he had done, after all he could not have saved. Again the questions as to why and how popped up in his mind.

'I wanted to live', a voice at the back of his mind said. Skulduggery recognised it as his own, a tad darker maybe but it was his voice alright.

“That cannot be right. I was fine with dying. I still am.”

'Pathetic', the voice mocked in a bemused tone. 'I save our lives and this is how you decide to show your gratitude? By cursing your existence, by giving up?'

“Who are you?”

'I am you. When Serpine robbed you of your petty life and burned you at the stake it was I who protected our consciousness and it was I who revived us after our remains were thrown in the waters of the Vilaine.

“I never asked you to.”

'The times when you controlled me without even knowing I was there are in the past. Over the years I obtained more footing in your mind and managed to gain powers you could only dream of. I have grown in the shadows of your thoughts, all your rage and hatred I absorbed and it was this never-ending stream of darkness in your heart that carved the wood I am made of. You could almost say I am your personified rage. I hate to break this to you, Skulduggery but even though you did not create me you certainly gave me the chance to live a life of my own.'

Skulduggery did not answer. An alter ego trying to break free of the chains of his mind? Was that even possible?

'It is. Yet I am not an alter ego, I am my own person now or soon will be. The only thing I regret doing but was inevitable is that I had to resurrect you as well since my powers are still connected to your consciousness. However, I am becoming stronger with every passing second.'

“What do you want?”

'Live.'

Skulduggery sensed the shifting of power inside his mind, felt how he slowly but relentlessly lost the control over his own thoughts when the Subconsciousness as he came to call it claimed them with force.

“I will not give up to you!”, Skulduggery sneered and focused his battered will on holding onto every shred of sanity. “After all, you are me and I am not willing to lose against one strand of loose thoughts that crawled out of some damp crevice of my own head.”

The Subconsciousness laughed and seemingly effortless shattered Skulduggery's already crumbling spirit.

'I am not a loose end in your mind or your subconsciousness. I am alive! I am Lord Vile!'

“NO!”

Skulduggery was pushed back in Vile's mind, his only option becoming to watch helplessly as Vile gathered his thoughts to order the quivering heap of bones to reassemble themselves. Groaning, Vile stood as the collarbones slipped into place and a soft white shimmer pulsed around the skeleton for a moment before it was just the light of the moon again to illuminate the deathly white of the bones.

Lord Vile raised his arms, palms facing up while his jaw rested on his sternum. Around him shadows shrunk back, melting with ever more shades before coiling up like snakes dancing to the sweet tune of a flute. A wink of his fingers and the shadows flowed to the skeleton, spiralling round and round the bones, fitting themselves into a protective layer. When the dark stream cut off Lord Vile was clad in a pitch black armour that would hold off every magical and non magical onslaught. It constantly changed shape and spikes and aggressive wisps growing from the black mass would retreat only to burst out at another spot which made it impossible to predict its movements.

Vile smiled – figuratively speaking – and commanded the shadows to lash out at trees and rocks around him, splintering and shattering everything the blackness could reach. Satisfied with the result he turned to Skulduggery, the last obstacle on his path to achieve absolute power.

Skulduggery would never have admitted it openly but the display of strength scared him. Vile was a necromancer, yet Skulduggery himself had never dared to temper with dark magic. What was more, he had never heard of a sorcerer mighty enough to create his own magical item they needed to imprison shadows within. Vile's object was the shade itself and it had just formed an armour which as a single event would be astonishingly impressive were it not for the fact that the mail was alive. Skulduggery felt it vibrate against the bones as it called out for bloodshed and desperation. That detail alone was downright terrifying since apparently the armour needed fear and delusion to mingle with the shadows in order to increase its power still. While Skulduggery deemed himself a powerful mage he knew Vile was at least five times stronger and it was this knowledge that frightened him to the core.

'Remember, everything you think echoes inside our head which makes it possible for me to listen,' Vile intervened almost apologetically. 'Yes, I am a necromancer but did you not listen? It was your rage and hatred that nourished me and thus it does not matter that you are an elemental for we are two different people. I may have sprung from your mind but now I am my own man.

“You have no own body and you never will.” 

'Wait and see. I think it is time to say goodbye. After all, this is what you have been constantly asking for the past hour.'

“I don't think so.”

'It matters not.'

Skulduggery chuckled. “False. Go on, try casting me out.”

Vile hesitated, sceptical at first but when he loosened Skulduggery's grip inside his mind, he noticed the drainage of his own powers as a consequence. Growling irritated he let go; he had not predicted the attachment being still so strong between him and Skulduggery.

“You cannot kick me out without killing yourself. Seems like you are stuck with me for an unforeseeable period of time. I hope you like discussing deep complicated philosophical questions and problems.”

'Questions such as why your family had to die?'

The guilt kicked in with the force of a storm wave. Nemesis and Kara, his family. With this new chess piece turning up on the board Skulduggery had pushed the thoughts of his family to the far back of his mind. “You have no right to even mention them!”, he hissed furiously.

Vile did not answer and started to walk, making the earth rumble and quiver with every step he took. Shadows writhed and coiled around him as he made his way through the little forest that bordered the river where Serpine had dumped Skulduggery's remains. The armour was vibrating excitedly but had bowed to Vile's will and the shadows trailing from the surface were more tranquil now as if they were laying low and awaiting their chance to strike.

“Where are you heading?” Skulduggery inquired still fuming with rage.

'Since you are me, shouldn't you be able to tell for yourself?', Vile teased. 'I am planning on visiting your friends and see how they like the new look.'


	10. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

“Watch out!” Saracen roared and tackled Larrikin to the ground as a sizzling energy stream seared above their heads and hit a necromancer square in the chest, killing him instantly. Coughing from the dust their fall had swirled up and wiping dirt off of their faces both men remained on the ground hiding between the corpses of the fallen.

“We can't stay here!” Larrikin shouted over the turmoil of the battle raging on around them. “This is no good, we are outnumbered and our troops are pegging out in hundreds. We have to retreat!”

Saracen only looked at his comrade grimly, cheek badly burnt from a fireball that had hit him but he knew, Larrikin was right. They would be wiped out before the sun kissed the earth and that was less than an hour off. “Get the soldiers' attention! Tell them to run for it! Regroup at rendezvous point! Go!”

“What about you?” Larrikin almost wiped the ground with his nose as he evaded a spear that was aimed at a woman behind them. Frantically he looked at his friend not daring to follow the spear's course to see whether it hit his mark for it probably would.

Saracen closed his eyes for a moment and heavily sucked in a lungful of air before he grabbed the jester's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. His brown eyes shone with dark determination as he looked at Larrikin. 

“I will get Ghastly.” Before his friend could do anything to stop him, Saracen had pushed himself up from the ground and sprinted towards the mad frenzy of two hostile groups of mages staging a fight.

“Saracen!”

But Rue did not turn back, he trusted his friend to round up their army and high tail it the hell out of this skirmish while he himself concentrated on the task at hand. He barely evaded a scythe and almost lost his footing in a pool of blood but managed to balance himself and run on. The faces around him became a blurred mass of agony and despair, mouths torn open in anguished screams, eyes opened wide as they felt Death stare into their souls before taking them with her. Still Saracen pounded on until he finally broke through a small circle of sorcerers and called out to Ghastly who was standing in the midst of numerous broken corpses.

The tailor had changed over the last two weeks since Skulduggery's demise. To be fair, all of them had, the spirit of the soldiers was dented and had taken severe damage upon seeing their leader killed and burnt at the stake and his family butchered like nothing. What was more, it was not just their fraction of the army that was in a poor fighting state; around the same time Skulduggery had been killed by Serpine, other leaders had been caught, tortured and assassinated all over the world in front of their soldiers. With the fingers of the steering hand that had coordinated assaults and imprisonments gone, sorcerers were causing havoc in their own ranks. Wrath and hatred now held their hearts captive and they attacked blindly in random groups, effectively killing themselves. Although new lieutenants had been elected for each regiment of the troupes, they had not even survived long enough for everyone to remember their name and now the queen of chaos was ruling the battlefield with an iron fist that no fire seemed capable of melting.

Saracen watched Ghastly punch a black robed necromancer whose torso and shoulders were protected by pieces of steel armour and sent him sprawling. The necromancer did not get up.

“Ghastly!” Saracen shouted over the roar of battle and sought to make his way past quarrelling fighters. “Ghastly! We are retreating!” He grabbed the broad man by his shoulders trying to get his attention but the tailor swatted his arms away and turned to run a mage through with a sabre, letting him fall where he stood, no emotion showing in his features. 

“Dammit, Ghastly! We are being butchered here! We are pulling back, NOW!” Saracen roared and grabbed his friend's arm.

“He did not die so we could run with our tails between the legs”, the tailor said almost too quietly to be heard by Saracen who gaped at him, mouth wide open in disbelief. Did Ghastly really think Skul had died in vain? Anyway, if Ghastly wanted to discuss this matter they could do it later. In the distance he heard Larrikin's magically amplified voice thundering across the plain ordering the troupes to retreat.

“This is not the time to talk about this! He died so we could continue fighting and fight we will! Just not now! We regroup and launch another att –“ Saracen stumbled back and disbelievingly looked down at the black-feathered shaft protruding from his belly. He shook from the impact of the second arrow that penetrated his right lung and crumbled to the ground before Ghastly could send an irate stream of orange fire towards the masked archer, killing him instantly.

Saracen was pale and his breathing hitching when Ghastly knelt down beside him with tears beginning to swell in his eyes. “Can … we retreat … now?” he asked, managing half a smile and coughed out blood that splattered over his chin and neck while his face screwed up in pain.

“Dammit, Saracen, this is all my fault! Had I not been totally out of my head this wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have –“

“You snapped … out of … it. I am … willing … to take ...two arrows … if I just got you … back.”

Tears streamed down his scarred face as Ghastly conjured a powerful pulsing air shield around them before carefully picking up his comrade who cried out in anguish as the arrows shifted inside him. “I got you. Don't worry, we can fix this.”

 

Somewhere else but not too far off…

Skulduggery had been quiet for the past few hours, thinking to himself with Vile notoriously interrupting to remind him that he was still audible throughout his entire mind. It had taken him some time to figure out how to build and fortify a wall around his small remnant of consciousness to shield his thoughts from Vile. Only problem was that the second the last stone had been laid he had not only prevented Vile from listening in on his thoughts but he himself was suddenly unable to hear his enemy. At the moment that did not overly matter since Skulduggery needed time and peace to think of a plan to reclaim his mind and eliminate this dark fantasy immediately.

Recap. A subsidiary part of his consciousness that called itself Lord Vile had managed to take control over his mind, banishing him into probably the same crevice he had crawled out from. How ironic. He would have to fight to get his prior position back yet Vile had no chance of casting him out without killing himself in the process since they were still the same person, technically speaking. Now, that at least was some good news however disturbing it might be.

There was one more question that bothered Skulduggery as he squatted at the back of his own mind: why had Vile appeared? He had been comfortable with dying or at least that was what he thought. Perhaps he was not?

Images started to flash through his part of the mind. Serpine smiling as he cut Kara's throat, the shocked faces of his friends as he gave up to his arch enemy, the sound of Nemesis' neck breaking, Shudder crying as he cradled Kara at his chest, the beautiful smile of the faceless traitor lurking in the shadows.

No, Skulduggery sobbed. Stop.

Kara's innocent laugh, her first wobbly steps, her scurrying up a tree like a squirrel, the sweet touch of Nemesis' lips on his, her warm fingers entangled in his, their long talks about the future while their daughter cuddled between them and finally the silent respect the Dead Men had given his family.

His family. Nemesis. Kara. The words echoed in his mind ever growing louder until Skulduggery gave a long piercing cry of anguish, his sorrow and grief turning into hot flaming wrath. His mind filled with blending white light as Skulduggery screamed out his rage and desperation. 

How dare Serpine? How dare he harm his family? How dare he turn him into a mumbling puppet with half the strings cut? He would have his vengeance!

Lord Vile. How dare this clown take his mind, his body away from him, how dare he claim his life as his own?

HOW DARE ALL OF YOU! Skulduggery roared and the light exploded outwards, blasting the wall to smithereens and shrieking it occupied every crack, every crevice of the mind, driving the wailing shadows back, cornering them. Above the turmoil rose Skulduggery, wresting the control over his mind and thoughts from Lord Vile who shrank back warily not having expected so strong an opposition from him. Skulduggery knew he could not get rid of Vile completely for he was and remained a part of his consciousness and so he simply banned him to the remotest and coldest place possible inside is mind. Solid walls were erected around his prison to cage him for all eternity.

As soon as Skulduggery was back in control, the armour of shadows began to dissolve and dissipated into the starry night without leaving a trace behind. All that was left was a pale skeleton with a broken soul wishing for revenge standing in the midst of the forest.

 

At the rebels' camp …

“Saracen!” Dexter came running towards Ghastly carrying the wounded man into the makeshift camp thy had set up in a clearing near the edge of the forest; they simply hadn't made it further with all their injured and dying. “What happened?” He paled when he saw the arrows protruding from his friend's body.

“Not now. Get Ravel – argh!”

Dexter watched the air shield flicker and vanish and lunged forward to prop Ghastly as he dropped onto his knees, completely drained and almost out of magic power. Sweat was pouring down his scarred face and he was clenching his teeth as he laid Saracen on the ground as gently as he could before collapsing next to his friend, unconscious. Without hesitation Vex sprang up to find Ravel. What the hell had happened? How had Saracen not known that arrows were flying his way? He pushed his worries aside when he finally located his friend outside a tent helping in the production of the healing mud. During the times of war sooner or later every soldier found himself aiding the doctors and physicians and Ravel had a knack at making healing mud. 

“Ravel! We need you! Saracen is hurt bad!” he shouted over the pained cries of a mage who was covered in black thorns.

Erskine Ravel frowned and grabbed a pot full of freshly produced mud before following Dexter in a jog. “How bad?” he asked, his voice pressed and full of concern for his friend.

“Two arrows, one through the lung.” There were no more words spoken until the men reached their wounded comrade. 

Saracen was lying on his back, cold sweat forming on his brow and his eyes were shut tightly as he attempted to suck in lungfuls of air in between bloody coughs. Larrikin and Shudder were already kneeling at his side with Larrikin whispering comforting things and Shudder nodding in agreement.  
“My, my Saracen, what on earth did you run into again?” Ravel asked with a smile as he joined Larrikin and Shudder into an kneeling position and placed the pot with the foul smelling mud aside. Although his friend looked worse for wear Ravel had seen that the injuries were not fatal if he provided medical aid immediately. “I would give you a leaf to dull the pain but I am afraid you would cough it out the second I laid it onto your tongue.”

Saracen coughed and more blood spilled onto his already drenched collar.

“Alright, there is no time to lose. Dexter grab his legs, will you? Larrikin, Shudder, the arms. Quickly!” Ravel ordered as his friends scurried to their positions. Carefully, he grabbed the arrow that had pierced the lung and slowly started to pull with Saracen uttering a gurgling scream and struggling to shake the Dead Men off. When Erskine was certain he would not do any more damage, he yanked the arrow out and threw it aside. Immediately, Saracen's lung began to collapse and he thrashed even more, his body screaming for oxygen. Ravel felt the air at the fingertips of his left hand and gently pushed until Saracen's lung was fully inflated again while at the same time he used his right hand to suck up the gases that had spread from the tear into his body.

“Larrikin, if you were so kind as to provisionally mend the hole in his lung with an air shield, the mud will do the rest once we stitched him up. It should hold for say half an hour, can you manage that?”

The sorcerer nodded and conjured a tiny air shield that clung to the small rip in Saracen's lung and hindered the air from escaping once again.

Saracen coughed and his chest heaved as he was finally able draw a deep rasping breath into his starving lungs. He moaned as the pain lashed through him with every breath he took.

“Here, chew this”, Dexter said gently with a relieved smile on his lips and slid two leaves into Saracen's mouth.

The Dead Men waited until the leaves had worked their magic before Ravel ripped the second arrow out of the flesh and began to remove Saracen's protective combat clothes. He carefully probed the belly wound before nodding, satisfied that the arrow had not hit any vital organ that was beyond the healing mud's mending powers.

“So, how does it look?” Saracen asked while staring at the blood covering his torso. “Will it scar?”

Instead of answering, Ravel gestured in the air and suddenly hot droplets of water were swirling around his hands which he commanded to clean the wounds of dirt and blood. “All done. Dexter, would you stitch him up?”

“No!” Saracen cried, suddenly frightened. “Not him!”

“Why not?” Vex asked with a sheepish grin. “It worked like a charm last time.”

“You stitched a unicorn onto my back!”

“Stitches from these tools don't scar so after you apply the mud it will vanish anyway. Poor unicorn, though; had to put up with your toxic criticism.” Dexter solemnly produced a curved black needle and pushed it into a fireball Larrikin was holding out for him to kill any germs. “What would you like this time?” he smirked as he threaded the needle.

Smiling at Saracen's panicked expression, Ravel leaned over Ghastly and when he saw that the tailor was still non sentient he slipped out of his jacket and folded it to provide a makeshift cushion. “Help me find some coats to make comfy beds for Ghastly and this dork”, Ravel said to Larrikin and Shudder.

When the three men were out of hearing distance, Dexter let his smirk drop and looked Saracen dead in the eye. “Dammit, man, don't you scare me like this. I thought we might lose another one of us tonight.” Carefully he smeared the mud on a crudely stitched dolphin and a crooked tree before he applied some more on Saracen's burnt cheek.

Saracen ceased his mewling and smiled gently. “You won't get rid of me that easily, Vex. I still got many pranks planned with you being the victim.”

“You're an idiot.”

In that moment, Ghastly came back to his senses and groggily sat up. When he spotted his friend his face immediately wrinkled with worry and guilt but a warm smile stole on his lips when he saw Rue grinning toothily back at him.

“Thank you.”

Saracen raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Why the honour?”

“Skulduggery was one of my best friends and we have known each other ever since we were children. When he … died I completely lost control and all I wanted was revenge. I strode down a dangerous road but in the end it was you … uh being injured on my watch, on my account that snapped me back into the here and now.” Ghastly looked up as Larrikin approached, closely followed by Ravel and Shudder, each holding a bundle of coats, blankets and pillows in their arms. They sat down and Larrikin piled some sticks into a heap and ignited it with a fireball. The Dead Men made themselves comfortable, smearing healing mud onto their various bruised and burned and cut bodies as Ghastly continued.

“You are my friends and you count on me as much as I know I can trust you to watch my back. I behaved like a child the last few weeks, wanting to smash everything to smithereens but I see that this was not the right way to deal with grief.”

“Everyone deals with sorrow differently, Ghastly”, Shudder said. “We knew, you'd come around eventually. We all had or still have to overcome this, Dexter with his jokes for which I wanted to smack him on more than one occasion and Saracen fought without a shield most of the time. Ravel went on killing sprees as well as you did, my friend and Larrikin would not stop going on about that one girl he met in Russia about a month ago.”

“What about you, Anton?” Vex inquired.

“I tend to think too much about what could have been and has not come to pass.”

“What about the best way to cope; reviving?” A voice as smooth as velvet asked from the shadows of the trees and a skeleton walked into the view of the Dead Men who stared at the apparition in front of them, eyes blinking unbelievingly while they gaped in total silence.

“I am back”, Skulduggery Pleasant said.


	11. The Gang Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks, this chapter struggled like hell. I guess, funny and witty is not my thing, I will return to dark and heart-wrenching in the next chapter. While this was fun (and frustrating) I like the drama better.

“I cannot believe I actually fainted!” Larrikin whined as he sat up, receiving compassionate pats on the back from his friends who were doing their best to hide their amusement. Except for Dexter who was snorting with laughter. What a jerk. “Fainting is for elderly people!”

“You say that as though hadn't mastered over a hundred and fifty years”, Saracen smirked.

“Shut up!” Larrikin growled and resumed to pout, leaning against the dark trunk of a tree with his arms folded. The bark was rigid and uncomfortable but his pride had already taken too much of a beating for him to openly admit that.

Ghastly stood and slowly approached the skeleton, fists clenched at his sides. “Is it really you?” he asked in a choked voice that let the others know not to intervene, no matter what.

Skulduggery tilted his skull to the side. “Yes.”

“Then prove it. Prove that you are more than a macabre joke the enemy is playing to mess with our heads and show us that you are not just a ghostly mimicry of our dead friend.”

“I guess that is only fair but I have no clue as to what I might do or say to convince you that it is truly me standing before you. You have seen prisoners who have spent countless days in Serpine's dungeons before he released them broken and shattered as they were as a warning to other soldiers not to make the same mistake and oppose him. Each of those brave men and women have turned into songbirds at Serpine's skilled hands, their secretes spilling out like water of a swift spring until they had run dry of information. They would have done everything in their might if just the ordeal stopped, consequently making up stories to scream at the top of their lungs with someone happily snipping away at their skin.

Remember them when you ask proof of me for I am no different. I would have twittered like a robin. If Serpine had wanted to conjure a spitting image of me after squeezing every detail about my persona out of me he would have without doubt succeeded.”

“Your words suggest that he didn't”, Ravel cut in. A battle of emotions – hope against suspicion – was showing in his features. “Actually they suggest he didn't do anything.”

Skulduggery snorted. “That is right, Serpine barely scratched me. He must have spent sleepless nights excitedly planning the big day in all its detail and mad glory when he would finally have me in chains on my knees. His scheme was devised perfectly; every step I took he anticipated. Every word that came over my lips Serpine had already a response to, he knew exactly what I was thinking at any given time. He had me dance like a mindless puppet on strings!”, Skulduggery snarled the last part.

The Dead Men had fallen silent, each member of the squad lost in thought, both assessing the risk this newcomer posed and frantically trying to find a way to prove it truly was their friend, returned from beyond the grave. Before anyone could open their mouth, Skulduggery was already continuing.

“Serpine did not imprison me in order to obtain knowledge about our troops, our plans of battle; no, he captured me for the sheer fun of torture and my family for … for sport!” The disgust in his voice was real, the others could tell. “The prospect of demoralising our forces through my gruesome death was not more than a convenient side effect of the whole game because that is what it was in Serpine's eyes. A game.

However, he will pay for the humiliation my family has suffered at his hands, I will make him regret he ever stepped in my way and pay him back for the pain and the anguish he has caused me. I haven't come back from the dead to let this son of a bitch enjoy a glass of wine inside his fox's den while the murders of my Nemesis, my Kara remain unavenged. I will annihilate you, Serpine ...”, Skulduggery whispered.

“How … How did you come back?” Larrikin almost didn't dare to ask, almost didn't want to know about the ordeals his friend had to endure. Almost. Yet Skulduggery deserved loyal friends. Friends who cared and got one's back, no matter how dark the odds. Although, it had become impossible to read their friend's facial expressions, his voice betrayed his feelings.

There was silence and Skulduggery tilted his head to the side. “A darker part of my subconsciousness couldn't bear with the thought of giving up to Serpine as I had done and when he pointed his crimson hand at me, this particular fraction of my consciousness wrapped my mind in a protective bubble where I have remained dormant until a few hours ago. I regained consciousness and put the heap of bones I seemed to consist of back together, binding them with magic.”

Skulduggery purposefully had not mentioned Lord Vile the mere thought of losing control over his mind sent shivers down his spine, plus, he had no intention of frightening his friends any further. When he looked into their faces, however, he was met once again with dumbfounded expressions, eyes staring irritated at him, while the one or other jaw dropped.

“Is that even possible?” Shudder inquired, one eyebrow raised almost up into his hairline.

“Ha, I asked myself the exact same question, Anton, and for quite a while until I realised that it did not matter whether it was possible. Am I not here talking to you? I decided to put my energy into a task far more straining than sulking about a problem that wasn't even a real one, namely coming up with a good and proper excuse for the delay and the sorrow I have caused you. It got me wondering if you would still accept me now that I was stripped of skin and flesh, reduced to only a skeleton. As I was thinking of something witty and genuinely brilliant that would convince you I was more than just a product of your nightmarish imagination I actually figured it out.”

“Yes?” Ravel stepped forward, curiosity and hope brightening his features in a way that made Skulduggery's heart ache with guilt. They wanted nothing more than to trust him but with Necromancer Serpine as their neighbour they had to be careful and rightly so.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing”, Skulduggery said, his voice laced with resignation.

The Dead Men stared at their feet, thinking this situation over for the probably hundredth time now. Then Ghastly shot Ravel and Shudder a glance who gave him a court nod. Dexter blinked, irritated but when he felt the tailor's gaze on him, he pulled the right corner of his mouth up, smiling his one-sided smile. Larrikin and Saracen looked at each other, grins splitting their faces before nodding to Ghastly who took another step towards Skulduggery.

“You complete and utter basterd!” Ghastly whispered and reached out making Skulduggery reflexively stagger back expecting a punch but the tailor only wrapped his arms around him, giving him a bear hug.

Skulduggery groaned as his bones cracked but instead of shoving Ghastly away, he returned the tight embrace for several moments before tapping the muscled man on the shoulder. “Uh, I think you can let go now, Ghastly, this is getting kind of awkward.”

“Hush, we are having a moment here.”

“We do?”

When Ghastly finally released him and wiped a single tear from his cheek as a broad smile was playing around his mouth, Skulduggery reached up to his ribcage to check whether his bones were still in their proper place.

“My, my, what would I give for a body as slender as yours.” Saracen remarked from where he lay wrapped up in blankets and coats. He could not stand but flashed Skulduggery a broad toothy grin instead. “The ladies will swoon!”

“And Larrikin”, Shudder added and the corners of his mouth twisted into a smile which was something he had not shown in what must have been an eternity.

Upset, Larrikin mumbled some unintelligible grumpy insults into his beard and passive-aggressively wrapped himself into his coat next to Saracen. His eyes however, had lost their hard expression they had borne until some moments ago and a soft smile was settling on his lips when he nodded to Skulduggery and raised his right fist to his heart.

Skulduggery cocked his head at Larrikin and returned the gesture.

“Never gonna let him forget this, are you?” Ravel inquired.

“Never!” Dexter and Saracen grinned and attempted a clumsy high-five, although missed each other's hands, having misjudged the distance due to Saracen's prone position.

“It is good to have you back, Skulduggery”, Ravel beamed, barely able to contain his enthusiasm as he smacked his friend on the back, only to wince at the pain that shot through his palm after hitting a spinous process of the vertebra. “We truly missed you and to be honest we kind of lost track of ourselves, not to mention the physical impossibility of keeping our troops together; they are out there causing havoc. I am certain that seeing you will rocket their spirits through the ceiling. How could they give up when their trusted leader came back from the dead to carry on fighting?”

“Erskine, Skul has been here for five minutes, tops, let the poor man catch his breath”, Dexter hesitated and squinted at the skeleton. “Uh, I mean … you shouldn't be getting in his hair already … shit, no.”

“Are you done?” Ghastly queried with a deadpan undercurrent lacing his voice as he face-palmed. “I am sensing that there will be a lot more skeleton jokes.”

Dexter smiled broadly and hugged Skulduggery who was still standing somewhat awkwardly and lost next to their nest-like doss, not exactly knowing what to do. “Come on, have a seat, don't let the brooding man get under your skin.” He shrieked as Ghastly splayed his fingers and sent a weak gust of air into Dexter, knocking him onto his back, laughing.

Chuckling, Skulduggery dropped onto a brown coat hemmed with fur and crossed his bony legs. “It is actually good to hear some jokes, even if they come from Vex – no offence.”

“None taken”, Dexter grumbled and made himself comfortable next to Saracen. “By the way, when is someone going to tell him that he is naked?”

An awkward silence engulfed them until Larrikin tossed Skulduggery a coat which he scrambled to slip into while everyone could feel the embarrassment radiating from the skeleton.

“You really are one hell of a devil, my friend”, Anton Shudder chimed in and put his arm around Skulduggery's shoulders to draw him in for a tight embrace. “We really missed you.”

“I know”, Skulduggery said softly, his voice giving away the smile he could not show any more.

When Shudder let go he quickly averted his eyes to the ground but Saracen could see the tears glistening on his cheeks and concluded that it was best to distract the rest of the group. “How about we indulge in reminiscences now that we are complete once again? Anyone have a tale worth telling?”

“Aye! Ravel, you remember that time when you wouldn't believe me I had a broken rib?” Dexter jabbed his index finger in Erskine's direction with narrowed eyes and a slightly offended curl around his mouth.

A collective groan filled their humble circle and Ravel spoke up. “How could I ever forget, O Dexter, the vexatious brat who would whine for two hours straight about a teeny tiny pain in his chest that had appeared from nowhere else but his spectacular imagination.”

“It was broken!”

“We literally dunked you in healing mud for five hours, so even if there had been something broken which I still deem highly unlikely it would have been mended. Why would you bring up this topic, again?” Ghastly asked, exasperated.

“Because now I have the possibility to show you exactly how brutally I have been wounded”, Vex announced and crawled over to Skulduggery who judging by the way he held his skull, was watching him curiously. “This rib was broken right here, Ravel! And it hurt!” Dexter poked his finger in Skulduggery's ribcage and tapped a point close to the vertebra on a floating rib.

“Please refrain from sticking your filthy hands into my … torso, it is rude!” Skulduggery defensively waggled his hand in front of him to fight Dexter off who laughed and retreated, arms raised as a sign of surrender.

Suddenly, light footsteps were approaching their circle and when the Dead Men turned they saw a woman jogging towards them. “We finally have - “ She stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted Skulduggery. Confused her eyes darted from the skeleton to Ghastly but when neither he nor anyone else offered an explanation the mage scratched her head and gestured over her shoulder. “Nevermind, I'll ... come back later.”

Saracen was the first to laugh and as if his laughter had unlocked a barrier inside the hearts of the other Dead Men, they soon found themselves crying tears of joy. Their laughter rose up high into the trees that stood tall beneath the black starry night, with only the slightest droplets of silver moonlight dotting their tops. 

It was in this moment of cheerfulness that Lord Vile smiled to himself in his icy prison at the back of Skulduggery's mind. Maybe he had acted too rashly before but he certainly liked how things had turned out now; he could observe, assess and scheme without Skulduggery knowing he was even awake. Then, when the time had come, he would rise again.

Lord Vile would rise again.


	12. A Grave In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Skulduggery lost his wife and daughter and became Lord Vile.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Skulduggery's head jerked up and he snapped his fingers inside the black gloves he wore now to cover as much of his appearance as possible. The flames flaring up in his palm illuminated the scarred face of the intruder as he stepped closer. Ghastly smiled and raised his arms in surrender while the fire went out with a poof as it was smothered in Skulduggery's fist. The Dead Man had been deep in thought, oblivious to the sounds of the nightly forest and his friend's soft approaching footsteps. “It appears that I do not possess a need for sleep any longer and considering the fact that I am a skeleton it should not be that much of a surprise.”

With a sigh Ghastly sat down next to Skulduggery on the grey rock he had retreated to after the others had fallen asleep one by one. Soon, their snores had rumbled across the entire clearing while the night progressed and eventually Skulduggery had stood up and gone for a walk, not too far off into the forest but far enough to feel the silence envelope him. He had found a second clearing, much smaller than the one where they had set up their camp, and several boulders were strewn about in the tall grass. It was in the early morning hours that Ghastly had found him, the skull palish white in the moonlight as he sat there on his rock, surrounded by trees which the wind beckoned to whisper their secrets into the night.

“Of course.”

They fell silent, each lost in thought again until Ghastly could not bear the heavy tranquillity any longer. He had to ask or he would burst.

“How are you?”

Although Skulduggery knew how the question was meant he simply shrugged. “Empty, mostly. As if I was missing a major piece.” This velvety voice of his was quiet and calm and neither rage nor hatred distorted it.

“And Serpine?”

“What about him?”

“Are you thinking of revenge?”

A mirthless laugh rang through the night. “Oh, Serpine will suffer at my hand just like he made me and my family suffer. I shall have my vengeance, rest assured.”

“No wrath, no hatred?”

“Serpine was the one who taught me first-hand that revenge has to be planned precisely, one has to be cunning and must not act on sheer emotion. While rage and hatred are fuelling my motivation to cut this basterd's throat, I know I have to be patient. Last time I acted while grief and sorrow were poisoning my mind I lost my daughter. No, in order to make Serpine pay for his crimes I have to wait; my chance to strike will come.”

“You have changed.”

“I have died and returned from the land of the dead, what did you expect?” This time Ghastly could hear a genuine smile in his voice and more silence ensued before Skulduggery posed the one question that had been nagging at him, had been burning at the tip of his tongue ever since he had revealed himself to his friends. With his head held low he asked almost too quietly for Ghastly to hear. “Where did you take them?”

Ghastly hesitated for a moment. “You know, after Serpine burned you at the stake, he had entire army teleported onto the fields some distance from the castle. Faced with these abhorrent numbers all we could do was retreat which proved to be somewhat of a problem since our remaining four teleporters had been assassinated while we were distracted by … by your death.”

“You left them?!” Skulduggery echoed in disbelief as he sprang up, ready to hurl himself at Ghastly who held up his arms defensively.

“No, listen! Of course we took your family with us! All I wanted to say was that we didn't get far; we still are rather close to Serpine's hideout, in fact far too close for my taste because he has us trapped and we have been attempting to find a way to send messages to our reinforcements in Germany for two weeks straight now. Yes, we carried them with us, but we could not give Kara and Nemesis what they deserved.”

“Nobody could, not even I”, Skulduggery whispered and heavily slumped back onto the boulder, tremors rocking his skinny body as he cried silently to himself. He had no tears to shed but for the first time in his life he wished that he did as once again the sorrow threatened to overtake him and he covered his skull with gloved hands.

Tentative, Ghastly put his hand on Skulduggery's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. “Come with me”, he said softly and helped his friend to his quivering legs before leading the way.

They must have walked for about half an hour when Skulduggery broke the silence that had become their stealthy companion. “Where are you taking me?”

“Us remaining Dead Men did honour to your family at what must have been the most solemn and magnificent funeral during this entire fucking war. Anton himself adorned Kara's hair with white Freesia and would not let anyone else near her, least of all carry her. Saracen and Dexter did an exceptionally stunning job in combing and braiding Nemesis' hair the same way she used to do Kara's. They never looked more like mother and daughter, I believe.” He paused and a sad smile stole on his lips. “As for Ravel and me, we built a bier for Nemesis and made it look like it belonged to a deceased queen with all the burial objects we added. Each of us would give something and although these items might have been of poor value to a merchant they were priceless to us.”

Skulduggery felt an ache in his heart and he was certain he would have been unable to hold back his tears had he been alive. “May I ask -”

“What we placed on the bier? With me it was the shilling my mother gifted me on my fifth birthday; you know, it has become sort of a lucky charm the past years but I figured Nemesis and Kara needed it more where they are now. As for the others, Dexter actually gave his small dream catcher he has been holding on to for centuries because he swears it helps with the nightmares that come haunting him almost every night. He mumbled something about it keeping their sleep safe and sound. Anton, well, while he kept the pencil drawing Kara once made for him, he added one of his own: the one with the sunrise Nemesis and Kara liked so much because it reminded them of home.”  
“It was his favourite”, Skulduggery said, voice thick as syrup. “He once described it as his interpretation of hope.”

Ghastly nodded. “Aye. Saracen placed a pebble in Nemesis' hand and when we asked why, he smiled and said it was because he knew things. After Larrikin left the feather of a sparrow without an explanation he stole away. We let him be for we thought he couldn't bear with the sight of their pale lifeless faces any more; after all it had been him who made Kara snicker or at least smile when she was upset about something and wouldn't want to talk to either you or Nemesis. However, when he came back he announced that he had decided on a burial ground.”

“Larrikin chose it?”

Ghastly nodded. “Indeed and he made one hell of a fine choice.”

“Is that where we are going?”

“It is but we are almost there. Like I said, we haven't gotten very far with Serpine hot upon our heels.”

Falling silent once more, they made their way through the forest, dawn approaching fast now and just as the sun sent her first dusty rays over the edge of the world, Skulduggery stepped out onto a small glade behind Ghastly and a gasp escaped his mouth at the sight.

From a sea of red and orange leaves rose a majestic old beech tree into the sky that had shed almost all of its foliage leaving only the knotted and gnarled boughs behind to canopy the clearing. The trunk that ramified some meter off the ground wore a green beard of moss that reached down to the mighty roots and crawled over them only to disappear between the fallen leaves. It truly was a sight one expected to find between the letters of a fairy tale. The world was painted orange as more and more sunlight flowed into the glade and shooed the gloom away and let the remaining foliage lighten up in warm and soft colours.

“A beech tree ...” 

Ghastly attempted to keep the sadness from his smile and voice yet failed miserably. “I guess Larrikin remembered that the leaves of the beech tree make up a major part of -”

“Of my family crest”, Skulduggery finished the sentence for him as he took in the beauty of the clearing. Yet, while all this marvel added to Skulduggery feeling less at war and more at home, it was what he saw between two robust roots of the beech tree that made his heart jump and his soul ache. A small patch of ebony-coloured earth stood in stark contrast to the magnificence of the bright gentle colours surrounding it. When Skulduggery haltingly stepped closer, he could discern several pottered bowls bearing intricate ornaments filled with dried herbs and flowers and in their midst lay a beautiful wreath of flowers, the petals shining even more brightly in the light of the rising sun. On the roots on either side of the grave was the beautiful carving of a name and a picture. To his left, Karath with a small flower – a snowdrop, symbol of consolation and hope, Skulduggery was certain of it. To his right, Nemesis Strain and next to it Skulduggery spotted an arrangement of circles and dots he recognised as an ancient Greek symbol for strength and it made him smile internally due to the adequacy; a sign of respect for a woman bearing the name of a Greek goddess.

Skulduggery dropped to his knees and let his hands wander over the artfully carved letters when he saw the tombstone that had been leaned against the tree, although nature had already claimed the smooth slap. Two slim roots were growing around the grey rock from both sides before becoming entangled the same way a mother might embrace a daughter sitting on her lap. Skulduggery felt a choking grip on his heart once more when he saw that it was his own name being written on the headstone and it seemed that even from beyond the grave his family was still holding on to him. He did not look up when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Ravel and Larrikin were the ones placing the inscription on the stone, using compressed water as a tool while the rest of us went to work on the bark with knives. We had no idea you would come back, if you like we can remove -”

“No. The father and the husband I once was has been murdered, he died with his family and it is him who lies here. We shouldn't take him away from them again”, Skulduggery sobbed. “It … it is beyond beautiful and Nemesis and Kara deserve every last bit of it. Thank you.”

“It was the least we could do, my friend.” Ghastly bowed his head and together the two men grieved under the protective canopy of the beech tree until the sun had already risen high into the sky.


	13. A Dead Leader

When Ravel woke and discovered that Skulduggery was gone the betrayal and disappointment he felt was true and in his opinion justified. At least we haven't been stabbed in our sleep, he thought bitterly and went to wake the others. As soon as he realised that Ghastly had disappeared as well the anger vanished and made space for guilt. Skulduggery's entire family had been assassinated in front of his eyes with him in chains, helpless. He had been beaten and humiliated, didn't he deserve some time on his own? Wouldn't he himself want some air to gather his bearings, to think the situation over were he in his shoes?

“Where's Skul?” Saracen mumbled sleepily as he sat up looking around eyes still as small as raisins, hair dishevelled and standing up in all sorts of directions.

Larrikin grinned sheepishly and tousled Saracen's hair. “The maiden calling for her lover first thing in the morning? He sure must have turned your head with that dead-slender body of his.”

“Shut up”, Saracen growled and went to examine the stitchings on his chest and belly. Satisfied that the healing mud had not only restored the torn skin but also resolved the thread and with it the dolphin and the panda, he reached for his bag and put on a fresh shirt before he slipped into his jacket.

“I think Skulduggery needed some time on his own, he … uh, you know what I mean”, Erskine stuttered, the guilt of having suspected their friend's disappearance to be of a more sinister nature still nagging at him.

Shudder nodded knowingly. “We shouldn't press him.” Then he looked down at Dexter who was still fast asleep next to him and questioningly raised an eyebrow at his friends; Ravel shook his head and Saracen suddenly found a major interest in a piece of moss which he examined while he pretended not to have seen it. “Larrikin, would you be so kind as to wake our dear Dext –“

“Not in a million years!”, Larrikin cut him off. “Last time I woke him before the sun was up he attempted to fry me with energy. On purpose!”, he seethed and kicked the sleeping man in the thigh.

“But the sun has already –“

“No.”

Shudder sighed and gently shook Dexter's shoulder what enticed prehistoric sounds from somewhere inside a heap of blankets Vex had cuddled himself into, making Anton leap back warily. 

“Heaven, this man is a soldier! Where is his discipline? What if we were attacked while sleeping? I am certain you could fight an entire battle with him snoring peacefully wrapped up in blankets ten yards off.”

“That would be the best case scenario! Imagine, we wake Dexter and take cover, he roars 'who disturbs my slumber?' and unleashes his spectacular wrath, consequently taking out the hostile forces single-handedly.”

“Were I not completely exhausted, Saracen, I would gladly show you my wrath”, Dexter groaned but smiled as he sat up. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he groped around in the heap of blankets and coats until he found his shirt. “What about breakfast?”

Ravel shrugged and strode over to a group of mages that were standing around a large pot handing out food. He exchanged a few words that conjured smiles on their faces before he filled five bowls with what looked like porridge and manipulated the air beneath them until he could carry them back to their sleeping place on an seemingly invisible tray. Putting on his friendliest smile he announced in a ridiculous French accent: “Mes dames et monsieurs, may I introduce a culinary delicacy the kitchen has decided to honour us with. Bouillie d'avoine. Truly, a masterpiece!”

Unimpressed Larrikin raised an eyebrow. “It's porridge, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Yummy.”

Ravel laughed and handed out the bowls by letting them float to his comrades, keeping the last one to himself. “Eat up and behave!”

\----

It was already past noon when Skulduggery and Ghastly returned to the camp, making sure nobody caught a glimpse of the skull beneath the scarf that was wrapped tightly around the lower half of the skeleton's face while he kept his head low under the dark hood. 

“Saracen missed you dearly!” Larrikin announced with an impish grin as the two men sat down. 

“He got all antsy when he discovered you were gone and barely a minute passed without him sighing in deep misery.” He only just avoided the wooden spoon flying his way and snickered, scratching his freshly shaved cheek. After all, he still had to mend his chipped pride for fainting and what better way was there than to ridicule his friends?

“Did he now?” Skulduggery's voice, however tired and worn out it sounded, had an amused touch to it as he handed Ghastly a piece of loaf.

“Did not!” Saracen defended himself.

“Alright, love birds, we have more pressing matters to discuss at the moment. Like the war that is raging at our doorstep.” Ravel massaged his temples. “At least there are some good news for Epitaph Zeit approached me this morning to inform me that our Sensitives have finally managed to find a way to avoid the enemy's thought-shields. Actually, they completely dismantled them, don't ask me how, this is beyond my understanding –“

“As is a lot.”

Erskine only glared at Dexter before continuing. “Thanks to them, we were able to send a message to Meritorious who has announced to join us within the hour and promised to bring supplies and reinforcements.”

“The Grand Mage himself will come?” Ghastly couldn't help the surprise in his voice.

“I am so sensing a 'but'”, Saracen mused.

“But –“

“I knew it!”

“Well, he might have mentioned a mission that is keeping him from getting a well-deserved snatch of sleep.“

A round of groans rose up as each of the Dead Men pictured their imminent future: stabbed to death if they were lucky, shot – more than likely. Also roasted, cut into dice with shadows or drowned in a puddle (although, there was no way, a Dead Man would ever let it come to such an end) were promising possibilities. While being boiled in a gargantuan cauldron to be served as a witch's dinner counted to the less likely fates on their list, they still could be captured, tortured and impaled on a spike. What an annoyance.

Shudder leaned back against the trunk of a tree and folded his arms before his chest. “Any details?”

“None.”

Dexter shook his head. “That man is more parsimonious with information than Saracen.”

“And what is that supposed to mean, if I may ask?”

“When you fill us in on something you never explain why it is as it is.”

A smirk replaced the offended curl around Saracen's mouth. “That is because I know things and you don't. End of story.”

“You see what I mean?”

“Do we at least know where he intends to send us off to?” It was the first thing Skulduggery asked in the entire conversation and for a moment the others looked at him in surprise as though they had entirely forgotten he was even there.

“Uh, Meritorious was not very precise; he wanted to feed us the details when he arrives. Firstly because the Sensitives were having trouble keeping the connection up and secondly because he wanted to speak to us in person. Furthermore, he inquired whether the rumour was true.”

“What rumour?”, Shudder asked but instinctively glanced at Skulduggery.

“That we harbour a living skeleton. He seemed somewhat confused.”

“Oh, that.”

\----

The rumour of a living skeleton had spread like a bushfire and when the sun tentatively crawled over the horizon, the entire camp was buzzing with excitement and anticipation. As usual with whisper down the lane the details about the mysterious newcomer became fierier with every telling and the mages halfway across the camp were told about a skeleton wrapped in garments of shadow and fire, that had emerged from between the trees. When the news had reached the last group of sorcerers the figure – now soaked in crimson blood – was astride a massive black horse with flaming eyes while there were five mutilated corpses strapped to its saddle.

Needless to say, the disappointment was writ large in the assembled mages when in the late afternoon Skulduggery finally climbed onto a small boulder where he demonstratively revealed his skull and cleared his throat which he probably did more out of habit than of the true need to clear his throat.

“We are expecting a stunning speech!” Larrikin had said.

“Aye, motivational words that will boost the soldiers' spirit!” Shudder had added.

Now that Skulduggery was actually standing on the podium and felt the attention shifting to him he suddenly didn't know what to say. What would they do? Behind him on even ground the rest of the Dead Men had gathered, aligning themselves in a small semicircle with arms folded and daring frowns on their brows. Oh, this was ridiculous, was he not the great Skulduggery Pleasant who juggled with words as easily as a fire-eater with his torches? Was he not Skulduggery Pleasant, genius schemer and leader of a rebel army? Lionhearted sorcerer and defier of death herself? Who did he have to fear?

“Mages!” he cried and let his voice be carried over the glade. “Fellow conspirators! What a day to be alive!”

“Technically speaking you are not alive, though,” a man in the front row with frizzly hair and a frizzly beard shouted back at him. Unbelievable.

“You are fairly right but – “

“Who are you anyway?” Approving murmurs grew louder and apart from excitement Skulduggery could sense suspicion in the crowd. Behind him his friends shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other or furrowed their brow even further.

“First of all, has nobody ever taught you to let people finish when they are talking? Especially when they are in the midst of what has to be a tremendously moving and inspirational speech! That, my friend is rude!”

“Then tell us who you are!” a woman cried.

Skulduggery hesitated for a moment and a moment only before he clenched his fists at his side and his voice thundered over the glade. “I am Skulduggery Pleasant, your lieutenant and trusted leader, returned from the land of the dead to carry on fighting against that snake Mevolent! I have walked the path of agony for both my country and my soldiers, for my family and what is right!”  
Stunned silence followed as the sorcerers gaped at the skeleton while the Dead Men smiled to themselves. Now, that was a speech.

“That is not possible! You died!” The frizzly beard remarked.

Skulduggery sighed. “I wonder whether you ignored the part where I pointed out that I returned from the dead on purpose or if your hearing is simply not the best any more.”

“Why should we trust you? For all we know, you are a demon of the devil or Satan himself”, cried a young man with long blond hair and the first stubble sprouting on his cheeks and upper lip. A trembling arm was extended and he pointed his shaking finger of doom at Skulduggery. “Confess, Prince of Darkness!”

“That is a bit harsh, don't you think, lad? And rude, by the way, I mean you cannot run around calling people names based on their appearance. Just because you look like a fledgling and greenhorn to me, does not mean I will call you that.”

“You just did!”

Ravel rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger while an anguished expression settled on his features. In less than five minutes Skulduggery had managed to insult two people which did not really help in their aim to get the soldiers to trust him. Exasperated, Ravel looked at the others, only to see Ghastly face-palm, Saracen, Dexter and Larrikin smirk and Shudder shake his head in silent denial. He was about to intervene and save what little remained to be saved when a dark-skinned woman clad in black stepped forward, examining Skulduggery from head to toe. As soon as Ravel recognised her he scrapped his plan to come to his friend's aid.

Epitaph Zeit, a Prussian mage who battled her way through enemy ranks with both determination and shrewdness. While being an Elemental she adored her pole hammer and never hesitated to bring it to good use. After all, she hadn't become Captain for nothing.

“Your voice is the same as Skulduggery's and also the demonstration of your remarkable and unique skill to insult people was quite endearing. However, if you truly are who you claim to be, answer but this one question!”

Skulduggery tilted his head agog with expectation and curiosity. “I am listening.”

“How did you get the Dead Men to trust you? Did you manipulate them or put a spell on them?”

“I grant, Larrikin claims I turned Saracen's head in a romantic way but –“

“You're an arse, Skul!”

“ – but let me ask you a question in return, Epitaph. Do those men look as though you could bully them into believing you? Do they strike you the kind of people with whose heads you could mess? Trust me when I tell you this: the Dead Men made their decision in their own free mind and they stand with me, even if none of you will.”

Epitaph raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Confronted with these odds we are left with but one choice … welcome back, Skulduggery!”


	14. The Mission

Grand Mage Eachan Meritorious was a tall man with a stern expression on his face and even sterner eyes whose look could pierce a person to a degree where no thoughts of talking back remained. At least that was what must happen to more fragile people who completely acknowledged and respected his overall authority and to be fair, with his hard features and the sly approach of silver in his dark brown hair Meritorious did look like a person that would not tolerate audacity.

When the Dead Men gathered in the Grand Mage's tent, he knew he did not have to bother with showing aloofness or even rigidity like in ordinary meetings for those men would not be impressed let alone intimidated by harshness. As it were, they only just recognised him as their boss but when it came to advice his words fell on deaf ears. Meritorious felt like a father with seven uncontrollable, cheeky and overall vigorous children running free while he sat at home wondering where exactly in his education he had failed. He rubbed his temples as Dexter and Larrikin immediately slouched into two of the three chairs available while Saracen and Shudder noisily fought over the third one. Vex pointed at them in repulsion and consiprationally leaned over the arm of his chair to Larrikin. "Children these days, right, Aunty Bessie?"

Larrikin made a pinched face and nodded in agreement. "Mark my words, Aunty Myrtle! One day society will come to an ungraceful stop! Absolutely inconsiderate and spoiled brats."

"Who are you calling brat, you simpleton?" Offended, Saracen turned as Dexter and Larrikin burst into laughter while Shudder scrambled into the last free chair behind Rue, smiling contently. Once Saracen had noticed his strategical mistake he rounded the row of chairs in a slurping manner accompanied by a moping expression to lean against a pole that supported the spacious tent.

"Come, come, Saracen!", Dexter grinned and slapped his thighs. "Don't be like that. You wanna sit on my lap?"

The Dead Man raised an eyebrow. "How perverted can you be to invite a child as you so freely called me to sit on your lap?"

“Don’t be mad, Saracen.”

Ghastly who was standing next to Skulduggery near to the slit of the tent smiled fondly at the ruckus his friends caused. "Just like old times, huh?"

"Aye", Skulduggery said quietly. "Just like old times."

Meritorious stood and his towering presence drew everyone's attention to him. "My favourite troupe of troublemakers, indeed", he mumbled and rested his hands on his desk. Since he was Grand Mage, he liked having his private full-furnished tent with him at all times. Apart from a massive mahogany desk in the exact centre, it sported a cosy-looking cot covered with several warm woollen blankets while there was a iron sea-chest set at the foot of the bed. In the back of the tent Meritorious had put up a board of smooth wood to pin charts, notes and other hugely important sheets. The teleporter who had been assigned the massively important task of accompanying the Grand Mage did not mind the extra baggage.

"Before we come to the mission I have to clear a more pressing matter from my head. Our dear returned friend over there. Although rumours have reached me in the Sanctuary in Aachen I was prone to call them lies. Seeing you here with my own two eyes, well, I think it is high time I started believing."

"Grand Mage." Skulduggery tilted his head forward as a sign of greeting.

"Captains Zeit and Isola have reported back to me immediately after your revealing. Fortunately the Sensitives were able to hold the connection. Whilst Zeit was quite certain she was seeing the true Skulduggery Pleasant before her eyes being his inconsiderate self as per usual, Dubito Isola was still quarrelling with the one or other doubt."

"Isn't he always?" Ravel asked and a tired smile made the corner of his mouth twitch. "I still marvel at the fact that he was elected Captain. Every single decision he makes he will nullify a moment later because he changed his mind."

"Isola is just thoughtful", Ghastly defended him but his smile was forced as an image of Dubito appeared before his inner eye. A short man, rather extended around the midrift and all the while he wiped sweat off his brow and temples which apparently was pooling in these hot spots.

"No, he is volatile."

"Measured."

"Insecure."

"Strategic."

"Fatal."

"Okay, you win, he is fatal."

Meritorious cleared his throat. "Back to the topic. I take it you trust him?"

"Isola? No", Larrikin frowned.

Meritorious sighed heavily as he sat back down into a wooden chair with sweeping arms. "Skulduggery."

"Ooh! Yes, we do."

"Good, that is all I needed to hear. Now," Meritorious reached into a drawer of his desk and produced a chart which he rolled out on polished the table-top for everyone to see. "To your mission."

\----

Screams woke the prisoner from his sleep, although it was more like dozing what he had been doing for the last few hours they had finally left him in peace. The cries grew louder and even more anguished than just moments before. The prisoner knew they belonged to the girl that had been captured a day ago. Or had already a week passed? He had lost every sense of time, the days or rather nights for it was always dark and gloomy in these cells of hell as he called them, had become a haze of beatings, mouldy bread and foul water and screams. Always these screams. The prisoner had no idea how much time he had spent in this hell-hole but he was certain we would go mad sooner or later and hoped he would succumb to their torture before his mind surrendered to insanity.  
The girl screamed again and this time she babbled pleas and whimpers, shouting for them to stop. Although the prisoner used to be a man with morals and honour he felt no imminent urge to intervene. These days he did not care whether the guards tortured a man, a woman, an animal or a child; he was grateful it was not him. It had taken him the hard way to learn that while he was imprisoned in this damp and chill, caring about the fates of others drained one's energies and would be punished doubly by the guards.

Still, somewhere inside him a rudimentary shred of compassion unintentionally wondered what a girl this young was doing here. He had seen her when the guards had first dragged her past his cell and thrown her into the adjoining one. While it was custom among mages – unlike mortal tradition preached – to make no difference between the various genders and equally train and educate girls, boys and other variations, she was way too young to be fighting in The War. What crime could she have committed that was so horrible she was sent to this godforsaken place? Whatever the answer, this is none of my business, the prisoner thought and wrapped himself in the remains of his coat to get some more rest before they would call him to the interrogation room again and they would before long. He was never granted a full night or day of sleep, a few hours riddled with interruptions had to suffice. Then he would be taken to the torture room where they were attempting to squeeze every detail about his life and his work out of him. Sometimes, when he was really unlucky, guards would have fun beating him up right in his cell and there was no one who would aid him, no one who would bravely stand up for him, no one who cared because they all were just glad it was not them screaming in agony.

The prisoner shifted on the chilly stone tiles that were covered with a layer of straw so thin it was almost non-existent until he had reached the one sleeping position that did not let him feel every bone in his battered body. And so, with the cries and pleas of other damned souls in his ears the prisoner shifted back to a troubled half-sleep.

\----

"A prison break?", Larrikin inquired doubtfully while he could see the not overly enthusiastic faces of his friends. It was not that he thought the mission did not fit the job description of the Dead Men, it actually was a operation more than cut out for them because it met every requirement: impossible. What troubled Larrikin was the fact that breaking a person out of prison usually raised a lot of dust and a gargantuan dust cloud in a war would be synonymous with a furious swarm of wasps. They freed one man from a lonely cell and all hell would break loose.

"An extraction", Meritorious corrected. "You are to infiltrate the facility, locate and get hold of the target and meet the teleporter at the rendezvous point. In and out like shadows."

"You make it sound like it was a walk in the park", Saracen grumbled. "What do we know about the guards? The security system? The location?"

Meritorious pointed on the map before him and described a circle with his index finger. "All I can provide you with is the approximate area in which you will find the prison our man is currently being kept at. That would be here, half across the country in the foothills of these mountains right there. Close cities would be Lyon on the other side of the mountain range and Toulouse further to the south. A teleporter will be assigned to your mission and drop you off in a small village close to where we estimate the prison to be. From there you are to head west until you find the facility."

"What do we know about the prison?", Skulduggery inquired folding his arms.

Meritorious hesitated. "Little. Just rumours that follow in the wake of its name, Sourir De Mère."

"Sourir De Mère … ", Ghastly mumbled. "That is French for 'Mother's Smile' if I am not entirely mistaken."

"You are not", Shudder said gravely. "Mother's Smile is the prison Mevolent has his worst enemies thrown into, leaving them to die if they are lucky or to a future far more ill-fated than their most terrifying nightmares."

"There are not many stories about that prison", Dexter added. "Mostly because no one ever to have disappeared inside the black walls has been seen again. Nobody made it out of his hell-hole alive."  
Pondering silence filled the inside of the luxurious tent as the Dead Men became aware of the full extend of the mission: they would be completely blind, not knowing the size of the building, nor how many guards there were nor where exactly to find their target. Plus, the liberation of this prison would raise an even denser and bigger cloud of dust they had initially suspected; quite certain the backlash would be immense.

"Who is the prisoner and why are we supposed to extract him apart from the obvious reason that he is imprisoned in Sourir De Mère?" Ravel wanted to know.

"His name is Carnelian Parch and he is in the possession of valid information that if the wrong people– "

" –get hold of it, the world will end", Saracen finished the sentence for the Grand Mage, dismissively waving his hand. "Understood."

"It should be of no concern to you what makes him so valuable for this country if that would have been your next question." Meritorious stood again to meaningfully pace the small interior of his portable office. "Parch was abducted several days ago with but one witness, a Sanctuary official, named Brandon Solitude who with five other mages was an assigned bodyguard of his persona. Solitude claims to have been left alive to deliver us a message but quite frankly I believe he bolted and hid."

"How come?" Skulduggery inquired.

"He was shaken to the core when he was found which considering the slaughter he had to witness is not surprising. According to him the attackers were fast moving jet-black shapes, slicing his team members into dice before grabbing Carnelian and shadow-walking him away. Probably Necromancers for all I care. Solitude apparently was purposefully left alive to deliver a message to me." The Dead Men could see the scepticism in his features as he continued. "The exact words were 'The blasphemous sinners will fall' which I personally consider a lousy threat Solitude invented to make it look less like he failed."

"And if he tells the truth?" Larrikin leaned forward, legs shifting beneath the chair as he balanced his elbows on his knees.

"It matters not. Your goal is to extract Carnelian, nothing more. I hereby declare this mission official Sanctuary matter, to be carried out by the Dead Men under Skulduggery Pleasant, reinstated First Lieutenant."

Ravel's head jerked up. "What?! I thought I … but he … I ..."

Saracen made a solemn face as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Erskine, while you were a suitable and more than capable First Lieutenant these past two weeks, there will always be only one. There can be only one. You were just a filler, a substitute for the true leader. You have to accept that. Deep in your heart."

"Get off me", Ravel grumbled and glared at Saracen who retreated with a laugh.

"Sorry, mate", Skulduggery added with a casual shrug. "Maybe next time."

"What about the rest of the prisoners?", Shudder asked quietly and uttered what each and every one of the Dead Men had been thinking at least a dozen times over the last quarter of an hour. How was this man more important than the rest of the inmates? Weren't they all on their side and suffering for their cause? Why was it always just those in positions of power with the most political knowledge that made it on the to-be-rescued-list while others, good soldiers were left to rot in the dungeons of the enemy?

"We cannot under no circumstances leave Parch in there. That is my final word. You are excused."  
Silently, the Dead Men filed out of the tent, flapping the cloth to the side just in time to see the sun flash a last beam of light over the world before it sank into the gaping darkness beyond. Deep in thought as they were, the men did not see a woman leaning against a tree close by.

"Tough", she said and removed herself from the bark, stepping closer. Clad in protective black clothes and leather boots as always she tossed a black braid over her right shoulder.

"Epitaph", Ghastly greeted her with a smile. "Were you never told not to eavesdrop?"

The dark-skinned woman waggled her hand. When she spoke a distinct accent crawled over her words making them sound harsher and harder. "The one or other time, yes but when it comes to politics you are far better off if you are informed what kind of game your superiors play in secrecy. It is entirely different from what they let us footsoldiers know; we are but pawns in their game."

"Come, come, Epitaph, we are certainly more than simple pawns, we ought to be at least Knights or Rooks considering our status", Dexter said with a charming smile. "And you would surely make a fantastic Queen."

"You trying to flirt?" Epitaph smirked. "After what happened last time?"

Vex made a squished sound in his throat. "I would never even dare to be flirtatious towards you – again."

Skulduggery tilted his head. "Why, what happened?"

Larrikin smirked from ear to ear. "He got his arse whipped."

With pain Vex thought back at the time he had initiated an attempt of courting her with the shocking result of her turning him down. Brutally. Him, Dexter Vex, the man with the charm of a prince and the looks of a god! OK, maybe he had been a tad persistent and probably had earned the lesson she had beaten into him. Turning red he pushed his hands into his pockets, looking around. All over the camp little fires were ignited and mages and soldiers huddled together, talking softly to one another. He could make out the tiredness and the exhaustion that seemed to be almost carved into their features, while most had bandages around arms, legs or other body parts. Behind him the Dead Men had fallen silent with him and an uncomfortable quiet was pressing heavily down on them.

"We should get going", Saracen said and motioned to where they had left their packs and coats, stalking off.

"Aye", Ghastly agreed darkly. "The sooner we set this prisoner free, the better."

"I didn't catch his name back there. Who are you going to break out?" Epitaph tagged along as the men wandered over to their sleeping place a little further off from the rest of the army. Skulduggery curiously eyed her from the side. She had always been a good and loyal friend, maybe a bit violent at times but could laugh at a good joke. Suddenly he remembered the last words of his daughter and froze.

We didn't know she could not be trusted, Daddy! It was-

It was who? Who was this ominous woman Kara had talked about in her last seconds? He quickly glanced at Epitaph. Could it be –? No, Epitaph was too … too what exactly? Too nice? No, she she was too straight-thinking to be a traitor. Then again it had to be someone they trusted and who was cunning enough to lure them into a trap at the same time. Epitaph was both shrewd and gentle. Nemesis and Kara had often spoken to her, had often laughed with her and eventually had put their trust in Epitaph. Still, he lacked proof; he would have to wait patiently and lay in observation.

It was Ravel who answered her. "Carnelian Parch."

"Never heard of him."

"Neither have we but apparently he is a crucial piece in this war and the Grand Mage wants him back."

Skulduggery hastily caught up with his friends before they could spill any more details about their mission. After all, if Epitaph truly was a traitor to their cause and reported back to Serpine or even Mevolent, they would be meeting severe and treacherous dangers on their mission. "Oi, Epitaph, would you mind leaving us alone for the rest of the evening? We like to plan in peace doing a what we call … uh Circle of Dead Men."

"She can stay", Ghastly smiled.

"No, she can not!" Skulduggery pressed and it was clear he had reason to believe it was better they were among themselves.

Slowly, Shudder nodded. "Alright, whatever. Epitaph, it has been lovely to chat with you but the grumpy old man apparently dislikes having beautiful women among us."

"I am not offended, really. Just go and have your manly circle of men. Wish you luck on your mission!" With that Epitaph waved, flashed them a genuine smile and walked away, the pole hammer on her back shifting slightly with every step. Only when she was lost from sight and the Dead Men sat huddled around their small fire staring at Skulduggery expectantly, he revealed what he had involuntarily kept secret.

"A traitor", Larrikin echoed incredulously. "We have a traitor in our midst?"

"I only just remembered now when Erskine was filling Epitaph in on our mission. We should be careful who we trust from now on. Obviously, none of us can be the deserter for she is female, that much Kara was able to tell me before … before ..."

"Don't push yourself, Skul", Saracen said gently. "We know."  
Shudder rubbed his temples and folded his legs in a criss-cross fashion. "And you suspect Epitaph?" His voice and expression made it clear what he thought of this outrageous assumption.

"No, actually I do not." Skulduggery sighed heavily. "As hot-headed and harsh as she can be at times, she clearly is a loyal soldier. Noticed how genuinely happy she seemed when I revealed who I was? I grant, not even she could muster up this much self-control and had she been the one to betray my family she should have trembled with fear of being found out."

"Unless she is confident she won't", Dexter pointed out.

Ghastly shook his head. "It doesn't matter at the moment for we have our mission and should be concentrating our energy and thought on that. This is not the time to play cherry-pick your spy. We all know that it will not be as easy-going as the horde zombies we took out a month ago; that was a child's play while this is perched on an entirely new level." He paused and looked around, meeting earnest faces, stern expressions, furrowed brows and . "I agree, we should not take the matter of the back-stabber too lightly but we really ought to focus on our mission now. Think of it like this, Epitaph now is the only one apart from Meritorious and us to know about the prison break; if something goes wrong and I do not mean our usual mishaps that lead to us being either completely exposed or drenched in sewer water or in rare occasions, trapped on a tree. I am talking about an impediment on a large scale that only could have appeared if a tiny bird twittered a song to the enemy's ear. It does, we know it was her."

The Dead Men stared at their friend and one by one slowly nodded, giving their assent. Larrikin finally clapped in his hands to break the sombre silence and smiled eagerly. "Fantastic! So, prison break! Who has got a plan at the ready?"


	15. Prison Break?

The Teleporter Meritorious had chosen to carry out the task of dropping the suicide squad off was late. When he finally turned up, slowly making his way over to where the men were waiting impatiently, his pace did not accelerate over the last few yards nor did he show any sign of haste at all. Due to the gloom of the early evening hours the Dead Men could not make out any details until he was close enough for examining looks. The figure was a slender man clad in slate grey clothes that made him seem to completely merge with the scarcely lit surroundings. He had a grey bag slung over his left bony shoulder while a carved willow branch that was fastened diagonally across his back rose over his right one for an easy grab. Had they not known better, they would have been quite certain to be facing a Twin: smooth anthracite-grey hair was boringly cropped almost to the scalp, while his anthracite-grey eyes showed no imminent sign of liveliness or emotion. His face was already starting to crease around the eyes and mouth and the skin had adopted a creeping greyness. All in all, he looked very grey – and boringly ordinary.

“Morton Ashen?”, Skulduggery asked and received a court nod. “Very well, then. I take it you know your task?” Another nod.

“He doesn't strike me the talkative type”, Dexter mused and fastened a lose strap on his black combat suit. While it did not offer as much protection as an armour would, it granted more liberties in his movements when in battle. All he had to do was being faster than his opponent. Quite simple.  
Every Dead Man wore similar clothes fabricated by Ghastly himself with small variations here and there that assimilated to their various powers and weapons. Shudder, for instance could rip the front of his jacket open without tearing it should he be forced to release the Gist, whereas Larrikin had two loops sewn on to the back of his jacket that usually held the scabbards for his twin katanas he wielded with preference and deadly accuracy.

“OK, people!” Ravel called and reached out to Skulduggery and Ghastly, who in turn clasped their fingers around Larrikin's and Shudder's arm. Dexter took Saracen by the arm like they were a couple and grasped Anton by the shoulder while Saracen clung to Larrikin's. “All set? Good. Mr. Ashen, if you please.”

Ashen touched Ravel lightly by the upper arm and for the blink of an eye they were hurled through a spiral of time and space only to stumble out on even ground before a run-down farm house that stood in the middle of yet another forest. It was clear that the house had been abandoned for quite some time now: the roof was crooked to a dangerous degree and the windows were either shattered or boarded up. The wooden door was miserably clinging to its hinges threatening to let go any second. A flood of dark moss sprawled on the threshold and onto the four steps of crudely hewn stone which led to the doorway. Up against the front wall piled cleanly cut logs – probably a storage for bone-chilling winters.

The teleporter cleared a small patch on the moss-covered rock and folded his tall thin body into a sitting position. “This is as far as I am taking you”, he announced in a soft voice that did not quite match his dry appearance. “Head west until you stumble upon what you are looking for. It shouldn't be far.” Ashen gestured vaguely to his right and leaned back against the mouldy doorframe, again almost completely blending in with the background. “Come back when you have the target; I will wait here.”

The Dead Men began to check each other's armour and weapons one last time even though they had probably done so. at least a dozen times already. Still, better be safe than sorry. In their business being sorry most of the time equalled certainty of an agonizing death.

“Where is your shield, Saracen? Did I not tell you to take your damn shield?”, Shudder scolded as he helped Rue fasten some more leather straps on his back. Although his tone of voice was calm, Saracen could detect a hint of concern underlying it.

“It is too bulky for a mission as sneaky and tip-toey as this one, Anton. I would probably end up dragging it through the undergrowth with the stealthiness of an elephant.”

“At least you brought your scimitar”, Shudder grumbled indulgently. “But let me tell you one thing. If I hear you whining only once when you are sliced up, I am going to wallop you myself.”  
Saracen laughed. “Deal.”

“Are you two quite done?” Skulduggery asked exasperated and adjusted his antiquated pistol belt that harboured his two revolvers and spare bullets he had slid into their respective loops all the way round the leather. All in all, he could fire thirty-six times before switching to more conventional weapons such as the rapier that hung stylishly from his hip. He sighed as Dexter accidentally smacked the pommel of his sword in Larrikin's face and the two started to growl abuse at one another: it was after sunset, he had lost the ability to addictively inhale coffee and his team mates were being ridiculous already. “How is it looking? Are we good to go?”

“Uh, no.” Ghastly pointed at Skulduggery's pale skull floating in the darkness. “Not with you exposed like that. You are pretty visible right now but when the moon comes out you are going to light up like a beacon. We might as well send our enemy a rose-parfumed in calligraphy written letter announcing ourselves politely.”

“And I thought you were concerned about my well-being.” Skulduggery dutifully wrapped a black scarf around the lower part of his skull and crammed his head into a woollen beanie.

“Sorry.”

“Better?”

Teeth lit up around him in the gloom as the Dead Men smirked affirmative. Skulduggery shot a last sidelong glance at the Teleporter before he stalked off into the darkness between the trees which were in the greedy process of reclaiming the cleared area around the cabin.

As soon as the forest had gobbled the Dead Men up, they were surrounded by the nightly sounds of the woods: a scurrying here, a scuttling there, overhead the mysterious hoot of an owl and down below the soft tip-tap of an unseen fox hungrily roaming the woods in search of prey. The fathomless darkness enveloping the seven men stretched high into the sky where it was dispersed by the first sleepily blinking stars. The moon would not be up for another few hours.

Once Saracen had almost lost an eye in a fierce and overall heroic battle with an entirely motionless branch and Ghastly had hugged a birch, they decided to risk some light lest they were all killed before the actual mission had even begun. The four Elementals of the troupe ignited small flickering flames and let them dance on the tips of their fingers.

They must have walked due west for a little less than an hour, more or less in silence when Shudder suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and called out to his friends. “Do you hear that?”

The others listened anxiously for noises indicating imminent danger but could not pick up anything but silence.

“What do you mean? Everything is quiet”, Ravel finally said.

“Exactly. It is too calm. No scurrying, no rustling bushes? Nothing.”

Larrikin frowned. “Now that you mention it, it has been quiet for some time now and this stillness is eerie. Boy, this forest is giving me the creeps.”

“You going to faint?” Dexter teased with a wide grin on his face.

“Asshole!”

“Larrikin is right, something about this part of the woods is different, the very air seems to have come to a standstill”, Skulduggery added. “Perhaps we are close.”

“Yeah, I bet we are”, Saracen grumbled, looking around uneasily.

“We should keep moving.”

“Wait!” Ghastly held up his hand to signal his friends not to move, just as they were about to set off again. “I heard something.”

Three agonizing seconds of tension crept by – in total silence.

“Are you sure it wasn't just-”, Shudder began but as if to prove the tailor right a scream filled the night, however faint and distant it was.

“An animal?” Dexter offered but Saracen shook his head in disagreement.

“No, it was human alright.”

“And how would you – oh, why do I even bother asking, Mr. I-know-things?”

“Could be a trap”, Ravel pointed out and stole a sidelong glance at Skulduggery just as a second muffled scream ripped through the darkness. Although it was very faint and the Dead Men could not say whether it was a woman or a man crying out, they were able to detect a certain pain and despair underlying the voice. “This is exactly what Serpine or Mevolent would do to lure us in, by appealing to our soft our hearts.”

Skulduggery straightened up. “Well, we certainly won't know until it snaps shut leaving no route of escape. Our only future being a cold cell, mouldy food and happy hours of torture all day long until our hearts give out of sheer exhaustion.”

The Dead Men stared at the skeleton, faces mirroring their emotions that ranked from incredulity to dry acceptance. Just like old times indeed.

“However, I am fairly certain it is not a trap which is why I suggest we have a look and check it out.”

“My, my, so motivating a speech. Nothing's changed at all there”, Dexter said dryly and raised an eyebrow while an unbelieving smile let the corner of his mouth twitch. “Makes me want to spring right into action.”

“That's the spirit!”

Adjusting their course ever so slightly to the south in the direction of the source of the screams, the Dead Men took off again. They put the flames on simmer and switched to stealth-mode, skimming like shadows through the forest, the fallen leaves cushioning their steps. As they progressed, the cries grew louder and more frantic and soon the men were not only able to discern different harsh voices but could also tell it was a woman who was in need of rescuing. Behind a dune-like bump that suddenly rose up before them an orange glow of fire canopied the area of the occurrence.

Ravel splayed his fingers and let the air brush against his palm, reading in the air. “A group of people, less than two hundred yards off”, he announced in a whisper.

“How many?” Larrikin inquired equally low of voice.

“Hard to tell, it is more of a cluster. A dozen maybe?”

“Fifteen”, Saracen helped out.  
As expected, the ground beneath their feet soon sloped delicately, making the Dead Men slow instinctively and before they reached the crest of the small dune they carefully flattened themselves against the fragrant earth. With the smell of crumbly earth and wet leaves clinging to their nostrils the men risked a peep over the peek of the elevation and were met with a horrid sight accompanied by a blood-curdling scream.

Before them the hill sloped down gently into a small flat valley much like the bottom of a pan with the trees standing a bit further apart. About fifty yards off, a group of men wrapped in black uniforms were surrounding a curled-up figure on the ground. The entire area was illuminated by five mages holding brightly burning fireballs. One of the soldiers, a big bulk of a man grabbed the woman by her hair and hauled her into a kneeling position, enticing a coarse scream out of her followed by a flood of curses and whimpers. With a grunt he slammed his fist into her stomach before pushing her carelessly to the ground again.

“You shouldn't have run, Racine. You knew you wouldn't get far.” Although the man – he must have been higher ranking than the others for there was metal shining on his chest in the flickering light cast by the flames – did not raise his voice above average, the Dead Men had no trouble understanding him. The woman gave no answer.

“We have to do something”, Larrikin whispered urgently. “They are going to kill her.”

“Could still be a trap”, Ghastly pointed out.

“Either way, she is innocent”, Dexter now said in a heated whisper. “Whether she was brought in to act as bait or not, she obviously is the victim here.” He winced as a guttural scream rang in the valley as another soldier brutally kicked the woman in the belly.

“It is genuine.” All eyes wandered to Saracen whose look was fixed on the woman.

Skulduggery nodded. “Alright, I'll go with that. We will save her; you know what to do. Vex, distraction!”

Before Dexter could possibly complain, the others had risen to their feet and vanished into the shadows of the tree-trunks. Awesome. Joke's always on me, he thought and sighed. In his head he slowly counted to thirty and by doing so he offered his friends enough time to get into position before he stood and noisily brushed leaves and dirt from his legs and belly. He switched on his flashiest grin and strolled down into the arms of the enemy. Casually Dexter picked up a log, two inches in diameter, and ventured closer to the mages who were so caught up in beating a helpless woman to pulp that they didn't notice him at all until he smacked the first man over the head with his stick. He dropped like a stone. Naturally, the rest of the group swivelled on their heels to stare at Vex in surprise. Alarmed, they stumbled away from their victim and formed a larger semi-circle whilst quickly scanning their surroundings. The woman, too looked around furtively, expecting more people. Once was clear that Dexter had come alone, she tried to signal him to run for it while the soldiers in front of him visibly relaxed and allowed themselves to smirk confidently. 

“Why, what are you staring at? Never seen a man club another one over the head?” Vex laughed and tossed the log aside before dropping his grin. “I may not be an expert but even I can tell when someone is being tortured and this lady over here”, he motioned to the woman on the ground, “has had enough, don't you think?” The quick glance had been sufficient to realise just how shockingly young the girl – for it was a girl – actually was. Had he been forced to estimate her age he would have given her fifteen, tops. His stomach turned at the thought of fifteen adult men finding pleasure in bashing a child.

The leader shouldered his way past his men and planted himself in front of Dexter. “And who are you to give me an order like that?” he snarled with a slight French accent, looking down at Vex who was at least a head shorter. The muscled man had sharp features and a crooked nose that must have been broken several times already. Beneath his bushy blond eyebrows two blue eyes stared at Vex in a mixture of surprise and irritation. A slab of blond tousled hair covered his skull and hung partly down his brow. The black uniform with Mevolent's crest stitched to the chest was rumpled. Clearly, he had put a lot of effort in hurting the girl.

“I am the one who will beat some decency into you whilst shining brightly in the light of righteousness.”

The sorcerers roared with laughter. “What do you say, boys, let's give this boaster a fine thrashing!”  
Now that everyone's attention was directed towards Dexter, nobody paid attention to the shadowy spots between the trees. Like that, neither the soldiers nor the girl who had pushed herself up to lean against the dark trunk of a tree, noticed the six men stealing closer from behind. Strike from the shadows. Disappear into darkness. In the end it was the faint snapping of fingers that gave the presence of the Dead Men away.

Alarmed, the soldiers spun and wished they didn't have: a tall broad man with horrible scars running down his face and beneath his collar was walking up to them, grinning madly while flames flared up in both his palms. And he had not come alone.

To his left, a somewhat shorter man was casually rotating one of his two katanas in his hand. On the scarred man's right side sauntered a dark-haired man. He didn't seem to have any weapons at the ready and while there was a scimitar girt at his hip, his only defence was an eerily knowing smirk. The eyes of the man to his right glinted golden in the fiery light of the flames he carried in his hands. Closely up behind came a black-haired man carrying not only a worryingly dark scowl which alone would have put the toughest soldier to rout, but also a nasty-looking short two-bladed axe.

However, none of these five men was the scariest character that stalked up towards Mevolent's military dogs. Next to the sword-man on the far right a demon with a skull for a head grinned at them while training two revolvers at the group. The orange glow of the fire gave the uncovered bone an uncanny, yes almost ghostly note.

One of the mages paled visible while several men took a staggering step or two back whispering that the devil himself had come to bring punishment upon those who harmed the innocent. And these men had hurt many an innocent person, out of boredom, spite or simple cruelty.  
Skulduggery had purposefully removed beanie and scarf to let his gruesome and somewhat terrifying appearance leave an emotionally traumatizing imprint on their enemy's mental state. Now he called out to Dexter. “Oi, Vex! I hope you were not about to start the party all by yourself without inviting us?”

“The thought never crossed my mind!” he shouted back.

The soldiers, having come to the conclusion that Dexter was the lesser opponent, turned to force their way past him – and shrank back. Purple-blue energy was crackling in his hands and wound up to his elbows as he stood there, feet apart with a lunatic's one-sided smirk, daring the mages to approach any further. “And where do you think you're going?”

The Bulk's face flushed bright red and he pressed his fingers into his palm before he let them snap out accompanied by a small quick movement of his wrist and pushed against the air hard. “There are just seven of them!”, he bellowed as Vex threw himself to the side, only just avoiding the blast. “They are outnumbered! Take them out!”

A big commotion followed as the Dead Men sprang into action. Ghastly moved in when a shadow came to slice his head from his shoulders and easily parried with a gust of air. Two more steps and his fist collided with the Necromancer's jaw, snapping his head back. In the meantime, Skulduggery had fired two bullets, meaning to injure, not kill and two more sorcerers dropped to the ground in a swirl, screaming in agony. With two quick skilled kicks he knocked them unconscious and turned to meet his next enemy who was already darting at him with a longsword. Before the skeleton could move his arm up to block the blow, Larrikin appeared seemingly out of nowhere, slicing through the man's body with a fast succession of strikes.

“You've grown soft and slow.”

Skulduggery shrugged. “Didn't precisely exercise during the time I was dead. How could I have ever fathomed I would be granted a return?”

With a smirk, Larrikin was off again to bring more ill luck to people while Skulduggery holstered his pistols and drew his rapier. With all this ruckus and the little light he might hit one of their own, which in all honesty, had happened before. Shuddering with discomfort, he remembered Erskine roasting him after he had recovered enough to give him a fine chase. Skulduggery looked about, getting his bearings. At the far end of the valley, he could see Dexter throwing flaring energy at a Necromancer, who negated his attack by swallowing the bluish flames. Vex shrugged indifferently and drew his sword, a short broad piece of steel, perfect for fast attacks, quick turns and bold strikes – and for tossing apparently. Skulduggery watched Dexter nod satisfied as the blade struck the Necromancer square in the chest who went down with a surprised expression on his face.

Meanwhile Saracen and Ravel stood back to back, each warding off two mages at the same time whilst demonstrating excellent swordsmanship and in Ravel's case, nastily hurled fireballs and sudden rain-clouds materializing above his attacker's heads. Gusts of wind and water mingled and smashed into an Elemental who desperately sought to block the storm-wave but Erskine's aim was on point and the mage was sent sprawling, hitting his head on a tree.

Skulduggery moved to the side fleet-footedly as Ghastly and Larrikin simultaneously pushed against the air and sent the bulk of a man flying towards him. The soldier smacked into a tree beside the skeleton before staggeringly starting a wobbly attempt at getting to his feet again but had to find a razor sharp rapier stinging his neck.

“You almost hit me!” Skulduggery shouted over his shoulder at Ghastly and Larrikin who just shrugged and smiled apologetically before joining the frenzy of the battle once again. With a sigh he turned to the Bulk who suddenly darted to the side, rapier scraping over his skin but not tearing it. In a fast motion he was on his feet again, now towering over the skeleton.

Skulduggery cleared his throat noisily to attract his friends' attention but to no avail; they were happily beating up Mevolent's men. Larrikin and Saracen giggled over a mage whose rear had taken to burning after Dexter had released a blast of energy directed at him, while Shudder was being driven back against the trunk of a tree. Grunting, he head-butted his assailant who wailed and clutched at his broken nose. Erskine kicked the soldier's butt with a smirk and sent him flat on his face next to four other men who were all out cold.

“Look, if I hurt your feelings, we can certainly talk about it. You know, from leader to leader.”

“I don't think so, bone-man”, the soldier sneered and let his right fist shoot forward to knock Skulduggery's skull clean off but the skeleton ducked under the incoming arm and at the same time brought up his knee to let it collide painfully with the other man's loins. The Bulk did not even flinch. With hands as big as frying pans he grabbed the front of Skulduggery's jacket and easily hauled him up, swatting the bony fingers aside which were about to snap. Wasting no more time, the Bulk flexed his muscles and flung the skeleton right into the middle of a brawl between Ghastly and a Necromancer, consequently knocking down his own man. Scowling he started after Skulduggery impressively light of foot to finish him off.

Ghastly grinned down at his friend. “Is that your revenge for me having thrown that guy at you? If so, it failed, you didn't hit me.”

Skulduggery groaned as he peeled himself off from on top of the unconscious Necromancer and rubbed his skull he had collided with the other man's cranium. “Why don't you go dance with him, he should be about your size”, he mumbled. “Oh, and get me my rapier back while you're at it, I dropped it when he decided to give me flying lessons.”

“Consider it done.”

Skulduggery jerked back as Shudder, Larrikin and three more soldiers tumbled past him on the ground in a snarling, growling, tangled mass of limbs, swords and sticks, trailing plumes of fire and shadow. “Oi, watch it!”

Suddenly, Dexter and Ravel appeared at his side. “Only five left standing if you don't count their leader but Ghastly got it handled, I see”, Vex panted. A quick glance proved that the tailor was being pushed against a tree with the Bulk punching him hard in the stomach. “What do you say, let's take them together, just like old times?”

“You got it.”

Right in the moment the three Dead Men started running towards the remaining soldiers, Ravel and Skulduggery snapped their fingers, summoning flames into their hands, while Dexter lit up with crackling energy. A shadow came to meet them while two Elementals pushed against the air, forcing the men to split up. Vex sought cover behind a tree for a moment before continuing his sprint. Skulduggery had leaped to the side and elegantly rolled over his shoulder, only to be on his feet again seconds later, spanning the last few yards in mere moments. Ravel had neither dodged nor hidden, all he had done was conjure a powerful air shield that splintered the minute the shadow smashed into it and had it not been for Dexter to distract the Necromancer by efficiently throwing his sword again, Erskine would have been skewered.

“What the hell are you doing, you idiot?!”

“I thought it would hold.” Ravel let a continuous stream of fire shoot from his palms that burned right through an Elemental's clothes and singed his skin. “By the way, I've been meaning to ask, why don't you use throwing knives if you like hurtling your weapons so much?”

“Can't block a sword with a knife, now can I?” Dexter responded while holding a mage down for Skulduggery to bring his knee up into his face. “But-”, he punched a sorcerer in the stomach with all his might, folding him down the middle before finishing him off with a blast of energy, “-a sword can be used as a proper defence and it has some aerodynamic properties.”

In the meantime, Skulduggery faced down the last remaining mage. They had circled each other, hesitating to strike first until the skeleton sensed a slight shifting in the air yet his opponent had not made a move at all. In the faint glow of Ravel igniting another fireball in this palm he was able to make out two slim snake-like shadows coiling up behind the Elemental. Mesmerized, the Dead Man stared as the shadows moved wobbly towards the mage as though they had no strength left in them before suddenly winding around his neck, strangling him. Skulduggery would have been completely fine with this were it not for two obvious problems: firstly, nobody among the Dead Men was a Necromancer and secondly, the shadows did not consist of darkness at all; they were slender roots of a tree. He whipped his head left and right to find the source of this unusual magic but all he could make out in the darkness was slumped against her tree, the girl who seemed to have lost consciousness. Or hadn't she? 

\----

The forest had become quiet yet again, Ghastly had knocked down his opponent with a mighty blow and was now helping Shudder to his feet again, who was buried beneath two corpses. All in all, it had taken the Dead Men not more than ten minutes to scatter unconscious and dead soldiers between the trees. The only sound to be heard were their pants – and a stifled sob.

The Dead Men turned into the direction of the sniffling and slowly approached the girl who was still hunched back against a tree, watching them frightfully. The four Elementals among them carried fires in their hands to offer some light in the fathomless darkness surrounding them. The girl's one eye that was not swollen completely shut widened as the men came closer and she tried to scramble out of their reach, raising a hand defensively.

“Go away!” she croaked. Her voice was dry and hoarse but ringing in a pleasant French accent. “I wield powerful magic!”

It was a ridiculous threat. The girl knew. The Dead Men knew and the girl knew that the men knew. She was in no state to even lighten a match. Sweat was pouring down her face, lips chapped and sprung, a formidable bruise forming on her brow.

Dexter crouched before the girl but kept his distance in order not to frighten her even further. “We won't hurt you.” Carefully he extended a hand towards the girl who shrank back and gave a shriek.

“Step off, you plonker! You scare her!” Ghastly shooed Dexter to the side and took his place in front of the girl.

“Then she will run the second she sees you.”

It proved to be quite the opposite: the girl stared wide-eyed at the symmetrical scars running over the tailor's skull and down his face. With a trembling and bloodied and dirty hand that was missing more or less all of its fingernails she reached out to hesitantly touch one of the scars before snapping her hand back to her chest. “Who gave you these?”

Ghastly smiled gently and stroked his bald head. “Oh, I was born like this. My mother was cursed whilst being pregnant with me. The scars are the reason I call myself Ghastly Bespoke.”

Ravel stepped forward. “We cannot afford to waste any time. The prison must be very close and if those men do not report back, this place will be swarming with guards in no time.”

Larrikin nodded. “I agree. We need a new plan to get in. Stealth won't do any more now.” 

As though a switch had been turned, all eyes darted to the girl who frowned at first before she shook her head vehemently. “I will not ever go back there!”

“We will not use the child”, Skulduggery commanded, his voice unusually sharp and edgy. He knelt down next to Ghastly and funnily enough, the girl only stared at him in curiosity and relief. “But I do wonder how you fled from the unescapable facility called Sourir de Mère. Care to explain?”

The girl hesitated. She held her hand pressed against her chest in a way that let the skeleton know she had either cracked or broken a rib, yet the rough treatment of the soldiers pointed at the latter. Her mouth was a fine line and he could see the pain edged into her exhausted features. Black rings of sleep deprivation stood in stark contrast to her pale face and clear eyes. Her slightly aquiline nose sported a horizontal line on the bridge, honouring it broken. Shallow breaths escaped her as she stared at Skulduggery fearfully and rightly so. Who said he was not yet another villain, eager to schlep her off to yet another dungeon? Why should she trust him?

“You remind me of my daughter, you know? She was a bit younger than you but as lively as ten children, always a laugh on her face, always eager to learn more about the world, however cruel it has become. And just like you, she was suspicious of everything new being introduced to her. Shudder over here for example, she did not trust for over three months -”

“Really now?”

“ - but in the end she loved him as much as each of us Dead Men. She was a fighter and I recognise a fighter in you. I cannot see your hair colour in this gloom but my daughter's hair was a fiery auburn that mirrored the fire in her heart.”

Silence enveloped them before the girl reluctantly opened her mouth. She was still pretty shaken and a suspicious curl twisted her lips. “This is the second time I tried to run, to be honest. The first time they caught me pretty fast and … punished me. They wanted to make sure I would not be able to run ever again.” She lowered her head and the Dead Men followed her gaze to her naked feet where deep, barely healed cuts ran from heel to toe.

Ravel stared at the wounds, visibly impressed. “You ran on those feet?”

The girl nodded. “As far as I could.”

“I am sorry”, Skulduggery whispered.

“Don't be. I have had worse in there, daily beatings, mental abuse and so on. Fortunately the guards were not clever enough to find out how I escaped.”

“How did you do it?” Saracen leaned forward eagerly.

“I am afraid none of you would be able to pull it off. I manipulated the earth.”

Stunned and somewhat incredulous silence.

“Impossible”, Shudder breathed.

“I have never been able to do a much, only shift a few grains or make a pebble crumble but to flee, it was enough. Every hour I magically dissolved a bit of the mortar between the stones until I could pull one out and from there on, it was easy.”

“Hold on, how were you able to perform magic? Aren't the cells designed to block your magic like those in the Sanctuaries and special mage-proof prisons?” Ghastly asked, irritated.

The girl laughed mirthlessly. “They don't need that. When you arrive, they beat you into a state where using magic is wishful thinking and they keep it that way. Little food, almost no sleep and sometimes hourly bashings. Scratching at mortar is about everything I was able to do.”

“Alright, even if we cannot use you to get inside, you can still be of service to us”, Larrikin said brightly and hunkered down as well. “What is the situation in there?”

The girl breathed even more heavily now. Her head leaned against the trunk of the tree and she looked more dead than alive. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped to a croaking whisper.   
“What do you mean?”

“Guards, patrols, extra security, these kind of things.”

“Oh, well, I know the main gate is heavily guarded, at least a dozen soldiers but I got beaten senseless before I was carried beyond the foyer. The prison itself is a maze of dark corridors, lined with cells on either side. But you cannot actually consider walking in there freely; you will never see the sunlight again!”

Skulduggery drew closer to the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder and although she flinched, she smiled bravely. “You got out as well, right? Don't worry about us, we are the Dead Men, we specialize in these kind of things so to speak.” He stood and tilted his head, looking ponderously at the guards still lying on the ground. “I have a plan and for that I need two volunteers … Larrikin, excellent!”

“Huh?”

“And Vex! Wonderful! I feel honoured to see you as eager as ever to serve our cause.”  
Dexter stepped forward. “Now hold on a minute! I functioned as a distraction just half an hour ago, remember? Pick someone else.”

“Fair point. Anton it is! You two, I need you to hand over all of your weapons.”

Larrikin winced. “I am sensing the outline of a terrible plan, a downright stupidly genius scheme I should not agree with. Let me guess, you want us to dress as Mevolent's soldiers, sneak in and open a back door for you.”

Skulduggery pointed a finger at him. “False.”

Ravel smirked. “Please, do enlighten us, then.”

“It is the same as using – sorry, I didn't catch your name, little miss.”

“Racine. Racine Falote.”

“It is the same as using Racine as bait. Anton and Larrikin will pretend to be part of a rebel group that helped break her out and were about to retreat when the squad was attacked by the guards who will be played by us in a moment. A battle ensues and us soldiers win. While Racine managed to escape with the aid of several members of the rebel army, we were able to imprison two of the pestering rioters with the intention to interrogate them.”

Anton sighed. “This is insane.” Reluctantly, he gave his axe in Ravel's caring hands.

“Using the front door all along”, Dexter mused. “Why not?”

“Well, it is not exactly your head at risk here!”, Larrikin grumbled but followed Shudder's example and removed the scabbards from his back, handing them to Skulduggery. “I want them back, the second we are inside that building.”

“Done. Alright, boys, suit up!”

The Dead Men swarmed out, inspecting the fallen soldiers, using their senses of proportion to pick out those whose uniforms would fit best over their own clothes for there was no way they would abandon their own combat suits in a time as crucial as this. Some minutes later the Dead Men were all set and good to go. They had carefully gagged the soldiers and meticulously tied them up to the trees. It would take a while for them to be found. 

Everyone except for Larrikin and Shudder was clad in a black uniform bearing Mevolent's crest over their hearts. A black cloth they had discovered in every soldier's pocket covered the lower part of their faces, while the jackets were endowed with black hoods, probably to give the soldiers an improved aesthetic and have them appear more mysterious and secretive. Right now these laughable additions only played into their hands.

Skulduggery knelt down before Racine again. “You are not safe here. I would like to offer to carry you a bit further away where you can remain in hiding until we return and take you with us.”

“I will be fine.” Her breath was rasping and she was barely able to keep her eye open.

“Powerful magic, right?”

The girl blushed faintly. “It is just elemental magic, nothing special.”

“It was you who aided me before, am I correct? Those tree-roots strangling the guard.”  
Racine nodded, tiredly.

“How did you do that?”

“Well, if you think about it, trees have a lot of water in them, so if you manipulate the water pressure inside the roots, you can let them dance to your wishes.”

Stunned, Skulduggery remained silent to let the information sink in. “That … is pretty clever. You sure are a wondrous girl. So alike ...”

“What was her name?”

Skulduggery hesitated. “Karath.”

For a split second the girl's eye widened in recognition before she looked down at her toes again. “Then you are Skulduggery Pleasant.” Racine had a funny way of pronouncing his name but it hit the skeleton like a gale and he swayed slightly from the impact.

“How do you know that? Why do you know my daughter?” he croaked.

“Skul, we gotta go! Dawn's approaching and the darkness is our only chance of getting close to the prison in these ludicrous outfits”, Saracen called and Skulduggery nodded.

“We talk when I get back.”

Out of habit, Skulduggery took a deep breath, although it was more like inviting whistling air into the hollowness of his ribcage and stood, slowly walking over to his friends.

Who was Racine Falote? How did she fit into the picture? How was she connected to Kara? Thousands of questions roared in his mind, fighting over the right to be posed first but he forced them at the back of his head; there was a mission he had to lead and he couldn't afford to be mentally absent, he could not be anywhere else than the here and now. There would be a time, when this extraction was over, when he could go in search of answers. But not now.

He reached the rest of the Dead Men, eyeing them indignantly. “This won't do.”

The men looked at each other, questioning looks in their eyes, which were about the only thing visible between the hood and the mask. Ghastly was the one to speak up. “Why, what is wrong?”

“I don't mean you, I meant our prisoners.”

“What about them?”

“They look fine.”

“So, where's the problem?” Vex asked.

“They ought to look like prisoners.”

Shudder narrowed his eyes. “By saying we should resemble respectable prisoners you couldn't possibly imply-”

“Bruises, cuts, broken lips and so forth, yes.”

Larrikin groaned and his voice was whiny. “Seriously? My poor face!”

Ravel folded his arms. “Skulduggery is right, this act must be perfect or else our cover will be blown the moment they lay an eye upon your spotless mugs.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Whatever, Larrikin, let's get this over with”, Anton said. “Go on, someone punch me already.”

Saracen smirked and hopped up and down. “May I?”

Although Shudder glowered at this, he nodded and Saracen smacked him square in the face, splitting his lip and causing his nose to bleed. He grunted but didn't say anything but one word. “Again.” Saracen took a big swing and his fist collided sharply with Shudder's jaw, making him stagger back against Ravel who caught him.

“Are you okay?” the golden-eyed asked concerned. When Anton nodded, benumbed, he produced a small knife and opened a short cut just above his eyebrow. It was not overly deep but bled as heavily as a stab to the chest.

Shudder spat out a mouthful of blood from where he had involuntarily bitten down hard on his tongue when Saracen had punched him the second time. “Your turn, Larrikin.”

Discontented, the jester stared at the knife in Ravel's hand and nodded meekly at his questioningly raised eyebrow. Erskine lashed out and sliced at Larrikin's cheek, blood now trailing from a shallow cut. He pressed the blade against his left temple and gashed down deeply to his cheekbone.

Larrikin moaned as the pain kicked in seconds later. “Will it scar?”

“We are going to dunk you in healing mud after this mission, so no”, Dexter smirked broadly. “May I punch you? As payback for kicking me awake the other day, so to speak?”

“Sure, why not?”

Dexter took a swing and when his knuckles cracked against Larrikin's lips they split in in more than just one place. All in all, he looked like he had been roughed up pretty good for there was blood all over his face. Once he was in chains he would make a perfect prisoner. As would Shudder, who was no less blood-soaked.

“Off we go!”, Ghastly announced in a faint ringing French accent, imitating the soldiers' leader. Since with his muscled arms and torso he had had no other choice than to undress the Bulk and slip into his clothes, it was clear that he would be taking the lead. “Put these misfits in chains!”  
Larrikin gave him a deadpan look but allowed Skulduggery to bind his hands behind his back with a length of thin rope that he knew would have rubbed his skin raw in a few minutes. However, he was well aware that in this situation it was no good to let the knot loose, the prisoners would be searched and examined for sure. Everything had to be exactly as planned.

“Racine!” Skulduggery called out. “Which direction to the prison?”

Weakly, she pointed her finger. “Just follow the screams and you will stumble right upon it.”

“Thank you.” He shot a last curious glance at the girl who did her best not to show her exhaustion and pain as she raised her hand for a short wave. Was it really such a good idea to leave her here? Would he leave his daughter behind like this? Shut up, he scolded himself. Don't you go seeing Kara in any random girl. Racine will be fine, plus you are coming back for her. Yes, he would. He took his place at Shudder's right side, to lend a hand should the ground become uneven or should he stumble. Ravel was there to support him on his left.

Larrikin was accompanied by Saracen and Dexter who giggled at their friend until Ghastly ordered them to be quiet. They walked for about ten minutes in sullen silence when the tailor had them halt for he had spotted a dark slab of a building between the trees. Immediately the Dead Men grabbed their 'prisoners' by the upper arms and dragged them along while Larrikin and Shudder slipped into the role of rebel mages struggling against the iron grip of their captors.

\----

“What if there is a codeword?”, Dexter suddenly whispered.

“Too late now”, Ghastly answered, pearls of sweat forming on his brow. “They have already spotted us.”

And he was right, up ahead a small company of guards appeared out of the shadows to either side of the gate to greet their returned friends. Swords were waved and whistling shouts grew loud as they laid their eyes upon the prisoners, covered in blood.

“What if they only speak French?” This time Saracen was the one nagging.

“Would you two please stop picking holes in our plan?”, Ravel hissed and tugged sharply at Shudder's arm to move him along.

To the Dead Men's dismay, Saracen's concern was not even far-fetched as the first of the soldiers hailed their Captain in French when they met about ten yards from the doorway. The prison was a black mass of stone piled on stone, barred windows lining the length of the façade. It had a more or less square form if their eyes did not betray them and was two stories high, however, there must be more levels underground. The gate was shut and on the roof of the stone building the Dead Men were able to make out figures patrolling. The prisoners were roughly manhandled onto their knees with heavy hands remaining on their shoulders.

Ghastly, whose French was rusty and overall just rudimentary, did not hesitate to snarl at the man who had called out to him. “Address me in the language of Mevolent, you pathetic worm!”

“Pardon me, Captain! Rough night?” The person saluting Ghastly was tall and lean but still only reached him to his nose. His eyes, visibly through the uncovered slit were of a dark brown.

“What do you think? Can you not count? I lost ten soldiers in an ambush of those rebel-dogs and got not even my prize back.” Ghastly stepped to Larrikin, grabbed a handful of hair and painfully hauled him into a standing position, making him wince. He could not tell how much of it was acted and how much was real and for a split-second the tailor's eyes glinted apologetically before he pushed Larrikin to the ground and brutally kicked him in the stomach. Larrikin cried out hoarsely and curled into a ball to avoid more sudden outbursts of violence directed at him. “These scum are all we could get hold of.” He backhanded Shudder across the face who let his eyes shine fearfully and he struggled against Skulduggery and Ravel. Behind their masks, the Dead Men clenched their teeth at the rough treatment of their friends while their hearts raced, hoping for the scheme to work out as panned.

“The girl?”

“Do you not listen? I just told you she fled. They had a teleporter. Rather grey looking fellow.”

The soldier frowned but then a laugh escaped his lips. “What, Ashen? Then she should be with us shortly.”

Silence.

“Why?”

“He is on our side, remember?”

Ghastly folded his hands, desperately trying to keep his bearings while an ice-cold knot worked the insides of his body into a tight knot. Questions raced in his head but he had to act carefully now or everything would be lost. “Right. Just been a long night and those double-agents are a mystery to me. No doubt they are valid but I don't see how they can even just for pretence conspire with the likes of … them.” He nodded into Larrikin's and Shudder's direction, giving his voice a disgusted edge. “Any other news from him? Other rescue missions that we should be aware of?”

The man shook his masked head. “None that I know of, no. Then again, he seldom speaks and we were surprised by Racine's rescue operation.”

“Indeed we were but let us not linger on the doorstep. We ought to give those basterds a nice damp cell, don't we?”

The soldier motioned his men to pick up Larrikin and get a hold of Shudder, who both tried to back away, seriously panicking. Alarmed, Ghastly held up a hand to stop the mages. If they were separated, there would be nothing they could do to prevent their friends from being beaten to death. “My men inquired whether the honour of welcoming our guests at Sourir de Mère could be entitled to them, since they deserve to have some vengeance for our fallen. So, if you don't mind, we will see to it that those rats are accommodated.”

“Absolutely, Captain! You searched them?”

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” Ghastly snarled and loomed darkly over the lower-ranking soldier who backed off, holding up his hands in surrender.

“No, Sir!”

“Come on boys, don't dawdle, bring those abominable creatures!” Ghastly pointed at the mage in front of him. “You! Pick a cell and lead us to it.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” The man saluted and swivelled on the heel to march towards the gate, his company in tow.

Dexter and Saracen manhandled Larrikin to his feet again and followed the group, hearts beating at an incredible pace. Ravel bowed his head slightly in relief, for the soldiers – had they cared to look – however it must signal impatience. The sweat pearling on the men's brows stung in their eyes but they did not care. Mevolent's men had bought it: they were in.


	16. A New Piece on the Board

The Dead Men pushed their prisoners along and whilst being rough about it, they were always careful not to let hem stumble as they followed the soldier into the prison. His name was Will. That much they were able to find out when another man addressed him bringing up the topic of sending a company of guards to the site of the ambush.

“In the morning”, the tailor growled in his pretty French accent after receiving an encouraging nudge in the ribs from Skulduggery's bony elbow. “They might still be lurking in the bushes with even greater numbers than we have encountered already. I want this prison as fortified as possible during the night. We will see to our fallen first thing in the morning but wait for my order.”

“Fair enough. However, considering these are two members of the Dead Men, Major Trivalis might-”

Oh, Ghastly thought, taking a mental note, apparently I am not the ultimate authority. The Major, out of all people we could have stumbled across in here. He should pray for us not to run into him.

“You will do as I say and leave the Major to me”, Ghastly snarled in a tone that tolerated no more questions or any kind of disobedience.

“M-Major Trivalis ...”, Shudder repeated in a whisper that let the others know just how furious he was. Although there was also this hint of fear which was something quite unusual since Anton was the least jumpy out of them all. Stoic and brooding, that was his trade mark and yet the mere mention of Major Trivalis and the fleeting possibility of meeting the man inside Sourir de Mère, had brought a creeping fear to his voice. It reminded his fellow Dead Men just how dangerous the Major was.

“Keep your mouth shut, scum”, Ravel hissed but inwardly he shuddered at the thought of the Major. They had not even fully entered the facility and he was already sweating under his hood and mask from both the adrenalin being pumped through his veins by a rapidly pounding heart and the fear that they were blundering right into a trap. Either way, it was too late to change their mind now. They stepped through the arched gateway. “Do not fret, there will come a time soon when you will beg us to let you speak.” 

The foyer beyond the wooden door was a long stone hall, lit by torches that lined the walls on either side but was otherwise barren of obvious adornments decorating the crudely hewn stone blocks. The floor shimmered lightly in the glow of the flames, having been rubbed blank over the years of dragging struggling and screaming prisoners across. Before them, on the other side of the hall they could make out a shrunken version of the main gate. Will led them towards it and nodded to the masked men guarding the entrance. 

In the meantime, Shudder made a fuss over being manhandled through the open space and Skulduggery and Ravel had to seriously grab him, digging their fingers painfully into this flesh. However, Anton had managed to separate them far enough from the rest of the group so he could whisper to his friends. 

“Is this really a good idea? Ashen will have sold us out by now. And what about the Major?”  
It was Skulduggery mumbling a response as he brutally shook Anton and bodily dragged him along. “If so, we make them believe, we were among the ambushers, you got captured while the rest of us escaped. As for Trivalis, if we run into him … we will kill him.”

The faintest of nods from Shudder ended their secret little conversation as they caught up to Ghastly and the others who had been waiting for them in front of the second gate which was now heaved open by the guards.

“Be careful with our prisoners, they are cunning”, Ghastly growled at Skulduggery and Ravel who saluted simultaneously, barking out a “Yes, Sir!”

The group passed the gate which was shut immediately behind them, spitting them into a long corridor that ran parallel to the doorway before gently curving into narrow staircases leading to the upper floors on either side. Right in front of them, meeting the hallway vertically, a broad flight of steps led downwards. Neither of the Dead Men had to ask which way they would be taking figuring that if the dungeon was below ground level, the upper stories would be the guards' quarters. It was almost too easy to imagine the common rooms equipped with comfy sofas and armchairs while the guards were smoking, half stripped of their uniform, playing cards or dice.

Ghastly motioned his men to follow Will who was already halfway down the first flight of stairs and the Dead Men followed, taking care not to let either Larrikin or Shudder fall who were doing their best pretending to be frightened prisoners, although nobody was entirely sure how much of it was actually an act. The tailor fell behind to speak to his friends; he needed to be informed about any change of plan as it was him to stick out his head doing the talking.

“Anything I need to know?”

“If anyone asks what happened to the rest of the Dead Men, you have to make them believe that they grabbed Racine and bolted. Simple as that.”

Ghastly grimaced behind the cloth covering his scarred face. “Simple as that, my ass, Anton. We are not really known for exposing our comrades to torture.”

“Then act according to that.”

Dexter clenched his teeth. “I never should have agreed to this damn mission. It is a pain in the arse.”

“And you're complaining?” Larrikin hissed. “Can't you loosen our bonds? If we do run into Trivalis, I want to give him the thrashing he deserves.”

Saracen nodded. “As do I”, he said and his hushed voice was laced with barely concealed anger. “If I ever get to see his mug again, nothing in this world will keep me from running a sword through his eye.”

Ghastly was forced to swallow the question that had been burning on his tongue as suddenly the flight of steps spilled into a vast vault. Although there was less light to illuminate the way before them – perhaps to cover up the obvious blood stains on the stone tiles – they were able to see just fine. The gentle arches above their heads continued on until a far wall about fifty yards denied them to spread any other direction but sideways. The entire vault was riddled with smaller doorways, passages and hallways breaking away from the main path and the Dead Men were sure to get lost in this maze should they somehow be separated from their leader or be forced to take him down.

Unerringly, Will marched on, finding his way between the numerous pillars and narrower corridors, leading them ever onwards. To either side and in completely unexpected places the Dead Men could make out intersections and little niches with thick wooden doors crammed into the bell-mouthed alcoves. Cells without a doubt. Some doors stood open and they were able to catch glimpses of grey stone walls and floors. There was neither bed nor cot, only brown and rotten-looking straw on the chilly tiles.

The very walls radiated despair and agony; it was as if the echos of all these tortured prisoners still lingered in the crevices of the stone and pressed to be heard. Malevolence hung chokingly thick in the air and the Dead Men found it hard to draw it into their lungs. All, except for Skulduggery of course, who was battling with an entirely different opponent. 

\----

Lord Vile's imaginary head jerked up. What was this tingling? This sweet smell of blood, this faint ringing of martyred souls? He closed his non-existent eyes to revel in the sensation of death and destruction. He felt his senses awaken yet again, felt his strength return to him and smiled knowingly.

Oi, Skully! You don't look so good. You okay?  
'Shut up, you abomination!', Skulduggery hissed in his mind. He staggered slightly as he tried to block out Vile's laughter.

Now, don't be such a spoilsport! I know what the Major did to you, I can feel how the hatred boils within you. Oh, the darkness, the evil in this place makes me all tingly. If I could I would take a deep breath, taking in the delightful scent of torture and death. Vile leaned back, smiling to himself with eyes still closed. When he snapped them open again, he dropped the cheerful note in his voice only to replace it with a longing softness. You can feel it, too. There is no point in lying to me. This darkness around you, you can feel it deep inside you. The screams and the pain of the hundreds of brave soldiers that suffered within these walls. Their agony, their misery and most important of all … their deaths. You can feel how their hearts have given out after seemingly endless weeks or months, in rare cases, years of abuse -

'Leave me alone!' Skulduggery cried and was tempted to press his hands on his skull but knew it would not change anything, Vile was in his head and there appeared to exist no way of getting rid of him at the moment. Quite the opposite; he was gaining power in this hellish prison.

I cannot leave you alone – we are one person. I am you and you are me, which, admittedly is quite annoying but since I can't do anything about it, I think I just have to seal you away permanently and claim my right to live.

'Monsters like you have no right to live!'

Does that mean you have no right for life either? You are no less a monster than I am.

Skulduggery gasped involuntarily, attracting a worried glance from Ravel. Vile had struck a nerve there and he was well aware of it: he was a monster indeed, there was no doubt denying it. It had been him who was unable to protect his family, the love of his life, the star in his heart. Nemesis. Kara. Why? Why had he been so weak? He had been arrogant and selfish to think he could do it alone, he had been sarcastic and laughed Death in the face and he had paid the price. Oh, how he had paid.  
You see? Vile whispered. We are so much alike. Our worlds consist of pain but while I bestow pain, you are the one bearing the scar of it.

'BEGONE!' Skulduggery roared and noticed with surprise that Lord Vile had against all odds retreated again. Question remaining was for how long the truce between them would last.

\----

“Will?”, Ghastly called ahead and the man shot a glance over his shoulder as a signal that he was listening. “I need to have a word with Carnelian Parch again later. Why not accommodate our friends here in a cell that is not too far off? I am sick and tired of walking all these distances.”

Will shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, there should be a free cell just a little further down, not too far from Carnelian's. Um, that way, then.” He altered his course and soon headed down a dark narrow passage which led to another, smaller vault where the cells had no wooden doors but were locked with massive iron bars drilled into the floor and ceiling. Torches hung at irregular intervals on the pillars, the flames casting light in all the wrong places. Even in the dimness it was clear to them that the vault was a dead end, the only way was back through the corridor. If the situation demanded it they would have to fight their way out.

Carefully, the Dead Men advanced, senses sharpened to a shattering degree as they strode down the small hall that was lined with cells to either side. They had no clue as to how far below the surface Will had led them. To their right they spotted a small heap of stones that had been carelessly thrown aside with rubble littering the floor. Beyond the pile of brickwork a hole gaped in the wall separating two cells: the stone in the lower corner right next to the iron bars had been removed leaving a space that was just about the right size for a malnourished girl to wiggle through. 

“Here, throw them in there”, Will announced and pulled an iron-barred door open for Larrikin and Shudder to be pushed through. Nobody moved.

“Where is Parch?” Skulduggery stepped forward, his voice was hard, his body tense with concentration. Ever since Vile had sneaked back out and caused a swirling wind in his mind, Skulduggery was keen on speeding this mission up, for all their sake.

Will frowned at him. “I fail to see why you would hold any interest for him.”

The skeleton gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, do you now? Well, let me enlighten you. We have come to rescue the poor sod.”

“We?”

“How many members does the suicide squad, aka the Dead Men, have?”

Will hesitated. “Well, seven. Everyone knows that.”

Skulduggery took another menacing step towards the frowning soldier. “Then better start counting, my friend.”

Will's eyes widened at the sudden realisation. “Two prisoners … five guards. You are the Dead Men!”

Skulduggery ripped the cloth from his skull. “Excellent deduction!”

Will screamed in horror as the skeleton flung itself at him, delivering a punch to the side of the head, knocking him to the floor. He was on the prone man in a second, pressing the barrel of one of his revolvers to his forehead. “Please don't move. Although I am wearing a borrowed uniform which is a bad fit the suit beneath is brand new and I'd hate to get burn marks and your blood on it.”  
Staring at the dark empty eye sockets, Will froze, blood trickling down from a laceration on his temple where the punch had broken the skin. His face contorted in seething anger, not daring to move with Skulduggery straddling him and pointing a gun at his head. “You will regret this!”

“Most likely not.”

“Don't you know who I am?”

“To be honest, no, I do not”, Skulduggery sighed wearily. 

“I am the son of the great Major Trivalis and my name is Will o' the Wisp!” he shouted.

Dexter snickered. “Will o' the Wisp?”, he echoed disbelievingly. “You actually called yourself Will o' the Wisp? Trivial information, really, although you do have a quite … wispy form.”

Saracen slapped his friend on the shoulder, laughing. “Even though joking is my task, this was a well-delivered pun. I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, darling.”

Will o' the Wisp's face faltered at the laughter that surrounded him. “You are a dead man!”, he snarled at Skulduggery.

“Quite right, in more than one sense”, Skulduggery acknowledged happily. “Now, please do not take it personally but I will have to knock you unconscious.”

“Eh?”

A sharp twist of his wrist and Skulduggery smacked the hilt of his revolver against the mage's head, robbing him of his consciousness. “Safety was not even off”, he muttered to himself.

Ghastly cleared his throat. “I think we should get a move on. Grab Parch and leave this godforsaken place.”

“Couldn't agree more”, Larrikin said. “But, say, um, would it be a bother for you to take off our bonds first?”

Dexter approached the prisoners and flashed Larrikin a toothy grin. “I don't know, maybe I should let you suffer a bit longer, still.”

Larrikin gave the blond a deadpan look. “Let me hand out a piece of advise: untie me before I get really cranky and kick you in the shin.”

Vex laughed at this and bent to cut the rope Larrikin and Shudder had their hands tied with. They were just wiping the dirt from their knees and thankfully taking their weapons back when Ravel who had wandered about the vault, peeking into the different cells gave a surprised cry.

“What is it?” Ghastly asked, curious, yet alarmed.

“I found Carnelian Parch.”

“How can you be so sure? You – oh ...”

The Dead Men looked into the cell Ravel was standing in front of. On the floor lay the curled up figure of a man. Even in his beat up and unconscious state he radiated authority. His silver hair shimmered orange in the red light of the fireballs Ghastly and Skulduggery held in their outstretched hands. Beneath bushy silver eyebrows they were able to make out the outlines of a strong nose that sat above thin lips. His face was white as wax and sported an unhealthy sheen of sweat. Even though the man was lying on his side, muscled arms wrapped protectively around his torso they could see that he was tall and generally well-built. Bare feet crusted with dirt and blood looked out from under the tattered coat the prisoner used as a blanket; it simply was not big enough to cover the entirety of the man's body. All in all – leaving the cadaverous aspect aside for the moment – a sight they had not expected: the prisoner lying unconscious on damp brownish straw before them was an older version of Eachan Meritorious.

\----

Racine let her encouraging smile drop the second the Dead Men had vanished between the trees, taking the light and warmth with them and darkness surrounded her once more. She squeezed her eyes shut at the screaming pain her body wanted to be taken note of. Driving back the tears that stung at her eyes, the girl let her upper body carefully fall forward until she was on all fours. Her vision blurred and there were funny colourful splotches dancing before her eyes but Racine clenched her teeth, took as deep a breath as her broken ribs allowed it and painstakingly slow she started to crawl into the opposite direction she had pointed out for the Dead Men. They had told her to stay put and wait for them to return.

'Like hell, I will', she thought, jaw set, eyes ablaze. 'Men. Think themselves such authorities with their idiot principles of having to rush to a woman's aid. I wonder if they had helped me if I were a male. Probably. It was fifteen against one. Still, I was the damsel in distress and that is what is seriously nagging at me right now.'

While Racine was grateful for the Dead Men having rescued her, she had not been willing to show them just how hurt and weak she was. Her legs quivered and her arms shook from the strain of dragging her body across the fragrant forest floor. She held a hand firmly pressed on a stab wound in her side and sought to ignore the flaring pain rolling over her body at more or less regular intervals. The tears were flowing freely now and Racine did not bother holding them back any more – who would see her anyway; she was completely lost in the wilderness, alone and hurt.

'I do not need any man to hold a protective hand over me. I can fend for myself just fine. Unlucky me that I got captured. Now, breathe. Take it slow. One stroke at a time. That's it. You can do it. Allez!'

\----

“He used us!”, Dexter seethed and ran a hand through his blond mob of hair. “Meritorious took advantage of us, making us believe we were to rescue a prisoner that carried valuable information the enemy was under no circumstance to get their sticky hands on. That is low!”

Ravel shook his head, rubbing his temples. “Why would he do that if Parch didn't wield vital information? He knew we would immediately recognise him, I mean look at him: he must be his older brother or even his father.”

“Once we have come this far, it would not really matter if we realised, would it?” Saracen asked quietly.

“We might leave him here out of spite for having been tricked.”

Ghastly chuckled mirthlessly. “We are the Dead Men, not Mevolent and Meritorious knows that. He is quite aware of the fact that we would never leave Parch behind.”

Shudder nodded. “He played us like pieces on a chess board, gradually toying with our lives to rescue someone dear to him. I hate to say it but leaving all the cowardice aside it is something I would do and I don't mean, giving false information to my team but pulling all the strings to get those that I love back home safely.”

Ravel sighed angrily. “I still think it was rather crude to play us like he did. I completely understand that he does not want his relative to be rotting away in a cell, beaten and abused by the day but I would have appreciated it if he had at least told us what was going on. Had he told us straight away that he was his brother, father, cousin, we would have acted accordingly, planned accordingly even. Look at the mess this extraction has turned into!”

Skulduggery folded his arms; he had been quiet throughout the heated conversation and when he spoke now, the others fell silent. “This man, Carnelian Parch leads the to-be-rescued-list because his brother – I take it he is the elder son – is Grand Mage; there is nothing else to it. I know you were thinking quite the same when Meritorious has revealed the objective of the mission: why just Parch? What makes him so special that the best extraction-team our side has to offer had to risk their lives for him? He has connections. That is how politics work. It is clear that we cannot let this man to rot in this cell, that is just not who we are and what we stand for.”

“It's not fair!” Larrikin had a desperate expression on his blood-coated face. “There are people, good men and women, our comrades suffering in cells throughout the prison and nobody cares what happens to them! Have they not fought for their countries, for a world without the Faceless Ones? Is that the fate the Elders are willing to bestow upon them? I ask you, Skulduggery, who out of all people should be capable of giving me a proper answer: are you willing to sacrifice those imprisoned in this hell-hole for a successful operation?”

Skulduggery lowered his head, an uncomfortable silence settling between them. “I wasn't … that's not the message what I was trying to convey.”

Larrikin had clasped his hand over his mouth the second the last word had left his lips. He had turned bright red with shame at what accusation he had just thrown at Skulduggery. “Look, Skul, I … my nerves are on edge right now. I shouldn't have said that. I am sorry … I, man … Shit!” 

“It's okay.”

“No, it is certainly not! How could I ever arrogate a right to claim you did not care for … for your family? I … um, I am sorry I ever said that but I was so furious about the rest of the prisoners, my mind completely snapped. I know there is no way you could ever trade your family for seeing a mission accomplished. I am sorry.”

Shudder put a hand on Larrikin's shoulder who was standing there with his flushed face averted to the ground, not daring to look their leader in the eye-socket. “I think all our nerves are on a strain right now. Don't blame yourself.”

Skulduggery stepped towards Larrikin, placing a hand on his chest. “I know how you feel”, he whispered. “And that is why we are going to honour the Dead Men's motto!”

Ravel curiously raised an eyebrow. “That being? 'Strike from the shadows. Disappear into darkness'?”

“That is part of it, too. But mainly I was thinking about the fact that we take on impossible missions and I have an operation cut out for us. A task so straining and odd, so dangerous and life-threatening, we will feel the adrenaline rush through our veins as we carry it out. We will show true justice to not only Mevolent but also Meritorious: we will free Sourir de Mère.”

Dead silence.

Saracen cleared his throat. “Sorry, I thought you said you wanted to free the entire prison.”

“I did.”

“And how are you planning to do that?” Shudder asked in an all business-like air, there was no incredulity to him at all.

“With outstanding strength of will, a sharp wit, cunning schemes and – and that is the most important part – sheer luck. We will have to be lucky, mostly.”

Dexter puffed out his cheeks. “Again such a motivating speech, I am stunned, awed to the core.”

Larrikin grinned. “Setting everyone free? Hell, why not?”

Skulduggery pushed a fist into the air. “Who's in favour?”

Six hands were raised; there had never been much doubt about how they would carry out this mission if they ever made it into the prison alive and actually found their target. Somewhere deep within the Dead Men had already known that they would be trying to rip the facility from Mevolent's grasp and give the poor souls imprisoned in there what they deserved: freedom.

\----

“So, what's the plan?” Saracen asked as they hastened back through the irritating vaulted maze towards where they suspected the main staircase to be located. After some to and fro they had decided to first make safe the prison and therefore left Carnelian Parch in his cell. Taking him with them would severely slow them down at this crucial junction in their mission and they had to be swift and invisible, completely blending in with the deep shadows. The uniforms had been discarded and thrown into an empty cell along with Will o' the wisp. It was a risk, surely but it was a fact that they fought better in their own protective clothes and right now, they were going all out: six men and a skeleton against the entirety of the prison staff. Madness one might call it but no member of the squad had ever denied the accusation. The Dead Men had not earned their reputation for sipping tea on idle Sunday afternoons, although they did practise and enjoy that particular activity as well occasionally.

Without slowing down or getting out of breath, Skulduggery presented the framework of his scheme. Framework, not because he liked keeping the vital and juicy bits to himself, he simply had not got any further in his planning yet. “You do remember the two narrow flights of steps after the second gate? Taking a wild guess, I would bet those lead to the guards' quarters and common rooms. It is still before dawn, most will be sleeping, some might be up and about tormenting prisoners, plus there are the two companies outside and the soldiers on the roof but those are not to concern us at present.”

“I can already feel the lunacy of this plan. It starts creeping around the corner”, Ravel sighed as he checked a niche that turned out to be a side corridor.

“Have a little faith, Erskine!”, Skulduggery replied with his optimistic nonchalance. “We are to sneak upstairs and take out one after the other without making a sound. It is going to work like a charm.”

Ravel snorted. “Absolutely not! When it comes to leadership and stratagem I still think I would be the better choice. Most of your other neatly planned schemes did not withhold an even minor blow and soon we were confronted with problems big enough to stress the Elders out.”

“Thank goodness we are not them!” Skulduggery exclaimed. “We are far better at wiggling out of tricky situations than those old men.”

Ghastly raised both eyebrows in amusement. “In addition, we have a lot more experience in pulling ourselves out of the shit a certain someone has efficiently ridden us into.”

“I am sensing accusatory and disapproving feelings directed at me and I fail to see why I should ever deserve that.”

“You want me to get into detail?”

“Stop!” Saracen suddenly hissed and froze. The others had learned from experience that Saracen was not do disobey when he demonstrated a sudden change of behaviour and tone and followed his example. “Two soldiers. Hide!”

The men scattered, disappearing into dark corners, diving into vacant cells and pressing their bodies into the shadows alongside the damp wall and no second too early: tow guards, masks and hoods removed were rounding the corner, chatting away happily. They were still very young, looked to be in their early twenties with their close-shaven cheeks and suppressed enthusiasm lacing their voices.  
Larrikin and Ravel looked at each other from out of their hiding places and without a word said or signs passing between them, they moved. Strike from the shadows, disappear into darkness. A few punches and surprised gasps later Shudder reached for an enchanted length of rope to tie the mages up with.

Skulduggery who had folded his thin form into a narrow niche stalked up to them. “Like. A. Charm. Let's move, everyone stay sharp.” He took off again, closely followed by his friends. After some time they came to an intersection, chose the corridor to their left which spit them out into yet another vaulted hall, this one being flooded in the orange light of flickering flames. Surely, one of the reasons for that might have been the three or four dozens of uniformed prison guards patiently waiting for them.

“Oh.” Skulduggery came to a sharp halt. Behind him the Dead Men involuntarily turned into a shoving incoherent mass of bodies as they bumped into each other and tried to keep their balance. The skeleton whipped his head around. “Saracen, how come you did not know of this?” His voice was even, no trace of anger or irritation to be found, only a genuine wonderment.

Saracen frowned, seriously stumped for an answer. “I … I don't know … wait! There, Cloaking Sphere-bubble! We have just passed its borders.” He pointed at a shimmering irritation in the air not far behind them.

Dexter scratched his head. “I still blame you, Saracen.”

“Come, come, Dexter”, Shudder intervened. “You know that not even his outstanding power can detect anything inside Cloaking Sphere-bubbles.”

“Why do I feel like I should be offended right now?” Saracen glared at Shudder but loosened his scimitar girt at his hip all the same.

“I hate repeating myself, Skul but this does not give me the impression of an easy victory”, Ravel announced. “In fact, it looks brutally tedious work to me.”

“You are just weak, Erskine”, Ghastly grinned. “Remember the time when we would take out a hundred soldiers before breakfast already?”

“Mr. Bespoke, I would not be so full of myself if I were in your shoes.” A man separated himself from the motionless enemy ranks, stepping out of the shadows and approached the Dead Men. He was not overly tall, rather stocky yet wiry at the same time, coming close to Dexter's hight. His uniform was crisp and the creases were razor sharp, metal adorned the chest above his heart. When the face came into view, it was the black piercing eyes that startled the men the most: void of any kind of emotion they didn't show any liveliness at all. The brownish-black hair was cropped short military-style and the eyebrows were not more than hard lines, arching mockingly now. There was a mocking yet harsh trait playing around the man's mouth. Chin and cheek were clean-shaven. His lips were curled into a smile that did not extend to the rest of his face at all. He walked slowly, hands clasped together behind his back, his strong body language radiating authority and experience of several centuries. He did not look older than forty, though.

It was dead silent in the vault and the sound of the two halves of the Cloaking Sphere snapping back into their original position bounced off of the stone-walls loudly.

“Trivalis”, Skulduggery sneered and although he had no facial traits to show emotions any more, his voice exuded the hatred and contempt he felt for this man. And not just him: around his persona, fireballs flickered into existence, swords were drawn and energy began to crackle. “Looks like we have been spared the trouble of tracking down each and everyone of these basterds. What do you say, boys, let's show this monster what we are capable of!”

“Aren't you interested in how we found you out so quickly?” Trivalis asked.

“Not in the least”, Skulduggery said and darted forward. His palms filled with flaring flames trailing behind him as he charged at the Major, paying the obliterating rest of the enemy's force no heed. He could feel his friends close behind him, warding off fireballs and shadows that were ordered at them from the soldiers and attacking in return. A great clamour broke out as the Dead Men clashed with the enemy ranks, swords rattled, fire sizzled, shadows swished, people screamed.  
The Major had evaded Skulduggery's first attack by gracefully dancing to the side, retreating behind a row of soldiers that shifted together between them, forming a solid wall of flesh. 

“You coward! Come and meet me head on!” Skulduggery roared in frustration but all he got for an answer was the mocking laughter of Trivalis. Furious that the person that had caused them a lot of sorrow in the past, had slipped through his fingers like sand, Skulduggery snapped his fingers, caught a spark in both his palms and hurtled the fireballs at the soldiers who parried with shadows before attacking themselves. Razor-sharp trails of darkness speared through the air and towards the skeleton who could just conjure an air shield to avoid being sliced into dice. Leaping back, he shook his head to clear his mind from the straining thoughts of revenge; he had to focus on the battle at hand, there was no space for Trivalis right now.

'Let me out and I will lend you a hand', Lord Vile offered sweetly. 'Those Necromancers are nothing, I could take them out with the snap of my fingers – or rather your fingers. Oh, careful now, sneaky sneak attack!'

Against his better judgement, Skulduggery swirled around and with a fluid motion had drawn his rapier, cutting through the shadows that had been crawling towards him. “Get lost”, Skulduggery snarled and with an annoyed sigh, Vile fell silent. The leader of the suicide squad looked around and had he been able to smile, the corners of his mouth would have stretched proudly from ear to ear.

Ravel and Ghastly splayed their fingers and pushed against the air, denting the formation of the soldiers severely, although they were able to remain on their feet, propped up by the sheer numbers standing behind them. Shudder was punching a mage who was sent to the floor a few yards off, unconscious immediately on impact. His movements were clear and sharp as he smirked and turned to his next opponent. As for Dexter, Saracen and Larrikin, well, they were being their ridiculous selves: Dexter and Saracen had positioned themselves right behind Ravel and Ghastly so for the moment they were shielded from the guards with their knees bent and their arms providing a makeshift bridge between them whereas Larrikin seemed to be taking a run-up.

“Here I come!”, Larrikin whooped and started sprinting. In just four strides he had reached the troublesome duo and pushed himself off of the ground and when his foot made contact with the arm-bridge, with a cry Dexter and Saracen hauled him higher into the air. Larrikin spun over the heads of the hostile mages only to land right in their midst, where he started slashing and slicing to either side with not a movement wasted. Aching in his heart, Skulduggery thought back of Kara doing almost the exact same thing in Serpine's castle.

'She was something quite special, wasn't she?'

Skulduggery ignored Vile's demeaning comment and adopted his battle stance, glinting rapier in his right, flaring fireball in his left and without further hesitation charged the enemy lines. It was mightily wearisome to ward off mages who sought to kill you while keeping your emotions from boiling over, as well as restrain a mad Necromancer in your own head. Still, Skulduggery was not willing to lose any of these fights – and was he not a fantastic sorcerer, a battlewise warrior, a brilliant leader and an overall equipped with a spectacular brain?

Whipping his rapier to the left and right, stabbing here, blocking there, Skulduggery fought his way over to where Ravel was being punched in the jaw by a fist of shadows and stumbled against a pillar while Dexter fried the Necromancer who had taken on Erskine with energy. Ghastly jerked Larrikin back by his collar before the ginger stumbled straight into the line of fire between Shudder throwing his axe and a soldier firing a rifle. Saracen had been driven back against the cold wall, desperately defending himself against four men at once. Sweat was running down his face, he was biting his lip and his eyes darted from one guard to the other, trying to estimate their next attack. He winced as a sword cut his side open.

With a quick movement of his wrist, Skulduggery snatched his revolver from the hip holster and releasing the safety catch he let his finger twitch four times. Saracen cringed slightly as each of his opponents' heads snapped back with a bullet embedded in them but quickly got a hold of himself as three more mages came storming his way.

“Guys!” Dexter called, sending purplish energy streams all around him but the numbers of sorcerers that were running at him simply outweighed those he took down. Vex had suffered several cuts on his torso and an aching knee from where he had taken the blow of a war hammer. Blood was trickling down his temple and his dark blue eyes were scooting from left to right to not miss out any attack directed at him. “Little help here!”

Skulduggery fired the last bullets, killing two more Necromancers who were sneaking up on Ghastly and returned the useless gun to its holster. “Circle!” he shouted, stylishly stabbing at a mage that was getting too close for his liking before manoeuvring the second revolver out of his belt with his left hand. Aiming carefully, he fired six times, each shot a hit. What else was to be expected from an accomplished marksman?

One by one, the Dead Men shook off most of their opponents and managed to cluster together, forming a circle, facing outwards. Now they had the security of their friends watching their backs and could concentrate on the hostile forces before them.

“That is not a circle, it's an egg”, Saracen commented and ran a mage through with his sword.

“Egg is not a geometrical form, Saracen”, Larrikin corrected. “It is called oval.”

“I thought you and mathematics were on bad terms with each other, trouble understanding one another is what I hear?” Ravel wondered amused and tilted his head to avoid a stream of sizzling energy aiming for his head.

“I feel so offended.”

One mage after the other fell, while the Dead Men stood their ground, ever joking as they always did to keep the fear and the exhaustion at bay. Chalking up minor injuries as they went along, it was looking good since the soldiers were unable to get a clear hit on any of them; every time it seemed like a member of the squad was facing certain death, a sword, an arm or a powerful shield appeared out of nowhere as protection. It all went smoothly – up to the point where the whole operation went down the drain.

It started with Skulduggery missing the wisp of a shadow sneaking around his ankle and up his leg. Once the trail was in position it tightened like a trap and accompanied by a surprised cry he was yanked off of his feet. The sorcerer controlling the shadow in question was using a glove to control the darkness and by moving his index finger to the right, the skeleton moved above the fighters' heads and was flung into a side corridor.

'That was fun!' Vile smiled as Skulduggery staggered to his feet again. He could hear his name being screamed from inside the vault but the entrance to the corridor was already swarming with guards; he had no way of going back there. 'Set me free and I will wipe them out for you.'

“Not a chance you freak!” Skulduggery drew up an air shield in front of him as fireballs and energy mingled to roar his way. The shield cracked but held as he was forced a step back. Snapping his fingers, Skulduggery readied himself for the spectacular counter attack he was planning but a black tendril of shadow coiled around the air shield and darted under his jacket and through his ribcage. Screaming, Skulduggery dropped to his knees, air shield vanishing and a mage kicked him in the ribs, sending the skeleton sprawling. Raising his arms over his skull, he tried to protect his head as the kicks and punches hailed down on him.

'Pathetic', Vile remarked, disgusted.

Skulduggery reared up, releasing a continuous stream of flames from his palms before splaying his fingers and pushing against the air hard. This somewhat cheap manoeuvre had bought him enough time to stagger to his quivering legs and making his way down the corridor, swaying like a drunk. His head was swimming and his vision blurring – how that was possible was beyond him; he still had to experiment on what his skeletal body was capable of and why. He rounded a corner, feeling consciousness slipping from him as he propped himself up against a slippery wall.

The soldiers coming after him were met with a sight they would not have forgotten so easily had they lived to tell the tale: wisps of shadows were trailing first from the skeleton's sleeves and seeping from the collar, then they were pluming from its entire body, swirling around it and clustering. They could hear Skulduggery moan but the shadows would not stop for it was not him controlling them. More and more were sucked into the building sheen of darkness, soon forming an armour until nothing resembled Skulduggery any more.

And then Lord Vile rose to his full height, towering the terrified soldiers, snickering to himself about the beaten and curled up form of Skulduggery somewhere in his mind. He moved his gaze to the guards who had overcome the shock of his transformation and attacked with everything they got, which essentially was nothing. Nudging his finger in their direction was all he had to do to have them crushed by his overwhelming shadows. “How boring.” Vile's voice had changed, he was quite proud of its development since he could not bear the thought of being mistaken for Skulduggery.

Battle noises rang in the distance and with a smirk, Lord Vile headed in the direction of the fray with nothing and nobody stopping him.

 

The first thing the Dead Men saw of the mysterious newcomer was a swooping wave of darkness rolling into the vault, completely devouring ten soldiers easily before spitting them out, scattering the broken bodies carelessly aside. Then the tall broad man clad in mail as black as the night entered the vault with heavy steps. The armour twitched and shifted like fog drifting over a grassy plain in the early morning hours, spikes grew longer and darted towards the prison guards who frantically sought to leap out of reach – to no avail. Hopelessly, they were cut down one after the other, necks were sliced, bodies pierced, blood splashed with Vile not doing much more than wave a finger.

“Who is this maniac?” Ghastly shouted over the screams of the dying and wounded. As soon as the first few guards had been brutally murdered, he had retreated to an entrance of yet another passage, the rest of the Dead Men in tow. They had not to worry about being attacked any more, the soldier's attention had shifted to the man in armour.

“Not a clue but he seems to be on our side”, Saracen answered.

“What of Skul?” Ravel asked. “He was tossed into the very same corridor, this Necromancer emerged from. Do you think-?” He didn't finish the sentence.

Shudder shook his head firmly. “No. You need more than a Necromancer to kill off that basterd.”

“Technically speaking, Skul is already dead”, Dexter remarked wryly. “And Serpine is a Necromancer.”

“Nobody asked for your refreshing input, Vex.”

“This guy is really powerful, though”, Ghastly said, admiration and suspicion battling for the upper hand. “And he is getting stronger by the second.”

Shocked, they watched Vile send shadows to break and smash, to cut and slice, obviously enjoying himself as he murdered and killed, incapacitated and crippled.

'Is this not marvellous, Skulduggery?' Vile hummed in his mind. 'Death and destruction. Ah, smell the sweet odour of decay and despair!'

'No! Stop this madness!', Skulduggery snarled but was unable to do anything but watch helplessly as his subconsciousness ran berserk before him.

'For that you need some more power. Look, I kept my word and helped you and your little friends wipe out the entire prison staff. Now, from here on out, I will be acting on my own free will and I shall start by breaking the only six men still standing …'

'Don't …', Skulduggery warned for he of course realised that the last six were the Dead Men themselves. He struggled against the iron grip Vile had on his mind – to no avail; he was trapped and powerless. His attention shifted to his friends who were standing in front of the tall mysterious man, unsure on whose side he fought on. They had not moved from their original position, always keeping their guard up in case they were listed as the next victims for the Necromancer's killing spree.

Vile inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the bloodbath, overwhelmed by the fear still lingering in the air. His armour had absorbed every ounce of despair and pain and was shifting irately, eager to indulge sufferings and peel flesh from bones. 'Watch them die', he whispered.

'NO!'

Suddenly a shadow suddenly lashed out towards the Dead Men, aiming for Ravel's head but Saracen quickly leaped in front of him, blocking the shade with the blade of his sword, deflecting the sharp edge under an enormous strain. The force of the attack had him staggering back against the man he had protected, and he grunted as his arms were jostled up to the elbows. Now, Saracen was not a featherweight and once he took up a stance with knees bent and feet locked, it took quite some power to knock him over and Vile had just driven him back with a meagre tendril of shadow. No-one wanted to imagine what kind of damage a full-on hit would cause.

“Thanks, Saracen.”

“Why, he sure is strong”, Saracen winced as he disentangled himself from Ravel, shaking his trembling arms. “My proposition is we run.”

“Seriously?” Ghastly looked at Saracen and back to Vile who was standing motionless before them, apparently following the conversation with interest.

Saracen shook his head as a mad smirk spread from ear to ear. “Like hell we will. We still have to rescue Skul, remember?”

Larrikin pursed his lips. “We could always go the long way round, we don't have to confront this … person.”

“We would surely get lost, not to mention the amount of walking we would have to do”, Dexter entered the conversation with mock complaint. 

“And all of this only because that damn skeleton had to take flying lessons”, Saracen sighed. 

“Anton, what is your opinion on the topic?”

“When do we finally start punching?”

“Wise words! Come on, I know we can beat him!”

'NO! RUN!' Skulduggery tried to yell but his voice only rang in his own mind with Vile laughing at him. 'Run …'

Immediately the Dead Men fanned out, forming a semi-circle in front of the armoured enemy. Dexter and Ravel attacked at the same time, bluish energy mingling with the continuous fire Erskine released from his palms, increasing the force of attack. At the same time the Necromancer solidified the shadows on his chest plate, swallowing the incoming streams of magic, Larrikin and Saracen had sprung into action, half circling Vile before leaping at him from both sides with raised swords. Ghastly and Shudder were going for a direct attack, trying to bring their fists to good use.

Vile did not even have to exert himself blocking all of these vicious attacks. A wall of shadows smashed into Ghastly, knocking him into Ravel who cut off the stream of fire before involuntarily hitting Shudder who just leapt to the side. 

Larrikin swiped down his swords, initiating a fast series of strikes but never landed even one. He was plucked out of the air like a fly would be snatched by a frog and crashed into the stone floor. One of his katanas skidded over the tiles as his grip loosened and he opened his mouth for an anguished scream but the impact had pressed even the last bit of air out of his lungs. 

Dexter ducked a spear of darkness by rolling over the floor. His intention was to elegantly and smoothly get to his feet again and launch another attack but his plans were foiled when Saracen got caught around the waist by a trail of shadows and smashed into him. Cursing the two men tumbled over the uneven ground.

“Get your finger out of my eye!”

“Then stop pushing your elbow into my ribs!”

“Your knee better not be in that place!”

“You wanna know where your hand is?!”

Ravel got to his feet again, splaying his fingers and pushing against the air which rippled around Vile. He did not even sway; the shadows were efficiently absorbing every magical or non-magical assault. Behind Erskine a huge hole appeared into the wall as a fist of shadow turned it to rubble.

Ghastly tried to land a blow once more and actually got as far as touching the armour but his hand sunk into the shadows, disappearing up to the elbow in darkness which solidified around his arm, refusing to let go. “Er, little help here?” He pulled but his lower arm was trapped, the shades slowly creeping up over his joints and across his biceps. The tailor cried out in anguish as the shadows turned sharp and easily cut his protective clothes and the underlying skin. Slowly, inch by inch the black knives worked themselves up towards his shoulder and started spreading over his breast.

'STOP!' Skulduggery roared desperately, his voice ringing with sorrow. What was this? Did he have to witness the death of his friends now? Annihilated by him; brutally slaughtered? 'Please, stop!'

'I am just getting started, honey.'

Vile traced one of the symmetrical scars on Ghastly's face with a narrow wispy tendril of shadow, before suddenly ordering it to sharpen and tear the skin. The tailor jerked his head away as a scar that had never bled started weeping heavy crimson tears. 'Hmm, I think I should do this to the rest of those beautiful scars as well.'

The Dead Men were not getting close to the armoured man, no matter what they tried: sneak attacks were met with shadow swords cutting away at their skin, no blade and no magical charge managed to penetrate the endlessly shifting shadows forming the mail.

“Guys! TAKE COVER!” Shudder suddenly roared, hands at his collar, face smeared with new blood and dirt from where he had been hit and smacked against the wall by Vile.

“Anton!”

Diving out of the way, the suicide squad ducked. They knew what was about to come, they had often seen if happen before. Their ultimate trump card, only to be played if all else failed and it had failed.

Shudder tore at his jacket, both halves parting cleanly and the Gist broke through his chest. Roaring it charged Vile who released Ghastly and tossed him aside to meet his new, more promising opponent. The Gist was swarmed by blackness but easily bit through the cloudy coils. It was when it collided with Vile himself that the Dead Men witnessed something they never would have believed possible: the Gist lost or rather Anton Shudder did. At first it seemed that the black-haired creature with those horrid fangs and claws would gain the upper hand on first contact and it did knock the one or other dent into Vile, even forcing him back. However, the tables turned once Vile sneaked a shadow-tentacle around the Gist-user and impaled him. Anton gasped as the shadow pierced his back and broke out through his abdomen, and he was painfully lifted off his feet, dangling a meter above the ground. The Gist flickered and sensed that something was amiss yet it did not stop clawing at Vile with all its might.

When Vile released Shudder the injured man heavily slumped to the ground, breathing hard, hand pressed on the wound in his belly. The Gist had vanished. The Necromancer loomed above him, a menacing and towering presence. 

“Pathetic.” It had been the first time Vile had spoken and his voice was harsh and unyielding, fit for a mighty villain with a heart as black as his mail.

With a cry Ravel flung himself at Vile, all the while throwing fireballs which the armour absorbed like they were nothing, which they probably were. Anger was boiling up inside him: first Ghastly who was leaning against a wall, his right arm and the major part of his chest a mess of torn skin and sticky sweet-smelling blood. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, his head nodding from time to time – he had lost a lot of blood. And now Shudder, cowardly stabbed in the back while he was expecting to fight a battle head on. The golden-eyed drew his sword and desperately jabbed it at Vile who laughed and sent a series of spear-like shadows to deal with Ravel. The first three or four he could dodge and deflect but the fifth grazed his cheek and the sixth tore away at his side. Still he bounded on, eager to revenge his friends or at least get Larrikin out of the fray. The ginger was just wobbly getting to his feet again, still gasping for air. Maybe Erskine's gaze had lingered too long on his friend, maybe he had become slow or perhaps Vile was simply fast as lightning. Either way, the mage was hit square in the chest by a wave of darkness and sent sprawling. He hit his head and knew nothing no more.

“Dexter! Now!” Saracen yelled and started sprinting, scimitar raised in an old-fashioned fighting style. He completely trusted his friend to create a perfect diversion for him while he went for the killing blow; yes, he would stab this son of a bitch!

Vex bundled the energy in his palms and with a cry released two crackling streams at Vile, an attack strong enough to murder an unprotected man and cause severe damage to a mage wearing protective clothes. As for Lord Vile, it affected him little to not at all. His shadows hungrily swallowed the bluish sizzling energy and launched a counter attack but Dexter had expected it and dropped onto his stomach. Only, Vile had not been aiming for him at all: Saracen cried out in anguish as two sword-like shadows cut through his left leg. Clattering, his scimitar dropped to the stone tiles and he desperately groped for it as he was forced on his back with Vile opening four more deep cuts on his chest in a criss-cross fashion.

“How dare you, you jerk!” Dexter burned up with crackling energy, throwing one ball after the other, none getting close to Vile who soon tired of the blond going rampant and ordered a shadow at him. Vex ducked but it had been the same manoeuvre than before and Vile anticipated the dodge. Dexter was brutally hit in the side and smacked into the crumbling wall and with a groan he met the unforgiving floor. 

Scrunching, the already battered stones began to shift, to slip and before Dexter could scramble out of the way, they crashed down on his legs. Hard-edged bricks dug into his flesh, rubble rubbed against his skin painfully, the pressure bearing down on him was close to unbearable and it took all of his self-control, not to yelp with the agony. Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them away rapidly. Sweat was pouring down his face in what seemed like rivers as he clenched his teeth and tried to pull himself out from under the small heap of stones but apart from a sob and more pain he achieved nothing. He was stuck.

Vile approached the trapped man. He felt glorious! Sweet blood, sweet death dancing to his wishes, to his will. The perfumed scent of despair! Oh, how he admired it! He felt a slight tingle shoot up his spine as he looked down at Vex who in turn defiantly glared up at him closing in. He had to give it to him, he did not give up, even if his death was inevitable; how he struggles. Beautiful!

Lord Vile had his shadows form a mighty hammer to end Dexter's life and took a swing. Vex closed his eyes. A clash. No pain.

When Dexter opened his eyes again, a man was shielding him, trembling from the blow he had blocked with crossed katanas. Larrikin had a determined hard expression carved into his features as he drove back the shadows even if only for a second. Then they drove into the ginger similar to a wave hitting a crumbling rock, tossing him aside like a rag doll, and he collided sharply with a pillar. Larrikin did not get up any more.

'Stop this, Vile!' Skulduggery had witnessed the entire skirmish in shock. His friends falling, beaten, dying and all because of him. It had been him to hurt them for he and Lord Vile were the same person. Vile may have been a spawn of his fantasy, an offspring of his own thoughts but that did not change anything; he still was part of his subconsciousness and he was responsible for it; Skulduggery was responsible for his comrades' sufferings.


	17. Friend and Foe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Descriptions of violence!

Erskine Ravel woke to screaming. His exhausted mind needed some moments to acknowledge his surroundings. Not that they were imposing or particularly impressive. He found himself in a dim stone-walled cell which was stereotypically clammy and the brownish straw in the far corner was stereotypically rotten. Ravel was propped up against the cold wall, his head leaning against the bars of the holding cell.

There was no telling how many days had passed since their unfortunate encounter with the Necromancer. Was it only a handful? A week or even a month? Ravel could not tell and his mind was too weary to ponder such insubstantial questions. What good would knowing the answer bring, apart from growing even less hopeful? Although, Erskine was reluctant to admit it, it was clear that they would need outside help.

Sourir de mère belonged to Lord Vile now. Lord Vile. Whispered versions of the name had even reached the prisoners in their cells and it was with care that it was used. The rest of the surviving guards dared not to question his towering authority. As far as Ravel had been able to gather was that Major Trivalis was licking his boots. In exchange he had been assigned the honourable duty of torturing the Dead Men to his liking. It appeared that he considered his chance as a possibility to continue where he had left off all those years ago. Erskine had no idea what kind of a bargain the Major had been forced to strike in order to be left alive and for the suicide squad to be committed into his care. He highly doubted it was something one could profit from. 

The last time he had seen his friends was during the battle against Lord Vile and shortly after when the Necromancer had introduced himself. Vain son of a bitch. After that, they had been separated and kept in different blocks of the prison to minimize escape chances. 

It was laughable. Ravel was barely able to stand, let alone walk on his own and taking into account what kind of injuries his comrades had suffered during the fight, he was in good shape. He had been stripped of his protective jacket, leaving him clad in a thin woollen shirt which was torn and cut in several places. Bruising and minor injuries covered his entire torso. Garish red marks from branding and deeper wounds from whippings had been added to his growing collection of battle scars. He should be lucky it was not any worse but the most positive feeling he was able to muster was resignation. Not that he would have shown it. Whenever Erskine was being dragged out of his confinement a mask of bravado would slide up in protection of what secrets he harboured.

Lord Vile was never seen amongst the guards. He was never involved in any interrogation, although he would have achieved results far easier than his arse-kissing underling. Being broken by Vile had no shame to it, yet cracking beneath the – admittedly – skilled fingers of Trivalis was something none of the Dead Men could allow themselves.

The screaming rang loudly in Ravel's head which hurt from not only the regular beatings he received but as well from the purposeful denial of water and food. What little he was given was stale, dirty and more than likely mixed with drugs to make him more sensitive to pain. Ravel could deal without nutrition for days but the lack of water put a toll on him: his body was weak. Relying on his magical powers was futile; he simply had not enough energy left or else he would have manipulated the humidity in the air and quenched his agonising thirst that way. His swollen tongue rasped painfully over the rough and dry palate in a desperate attempt to moisten it. When he opened his mouth the thin skin of his parched upper lip broke and a trembling droplet of blood teetered on the edge. Ravel quickly licked it off, welcoming the moisture, however sick it made him feel.

On and on went the horrible screams and his mind having become slow, made it impossible to immediately place the voice of the person suffering. Upon recognising it, Ravel clenched his teeth and closed his eyes.

Anton.

Ravel's head sank onto his chest and he prayed for unconsciousness to invite Shudder into her realm. There was nothing more that he could do, except for willing his comrades to be safe. As well as waiting for the inevitability of his next round of interrogation. He guessed that Trivalis had organised it in a way, that in each cell holding a Dead Man, the screams of the unfortunate one being interrogated could be heard just fine. It appeared that their host had still not learned that this cheap ploy would not work on them. If it helped anything, then their anger being fuelled.

Ravel had no idea how much time had passed when half a dozen guards approached his cell, four of them standing back, while the other two entered, looming over the mage.

“Six guards for poor little old me? Why, I am flattered”, Ravel croaked smiling broadly.

Instead of an answer, the two masked men roughly grabbed the prisoner by his upper arms and hefted him on his feet, only, the mage was so weak, his legs gave in almost instantly. He groaned as pain washed over him when some older wounds tore open from the sudden stretching and started to bleed again.

The guards took Ravel in the middle, clinging to his arms as though they were their last lifelines. Exiting the cell, the other men took their positions in front and behind the trio, efficiently forming an escort.

Stumbling along, Ravel wondered which technique they would use this time to finally break him. Although, his captors did not pose a whole lot of questions, there remained those regarding the rebel army's tactics as well as the individual secrets each of them carried with them. And Skulduggery of course. Will 'o the Wisp had claimed that it had been seven men to infiltrate the prison, which left one Dead Man unaccounted for. Trivalis knew that even one stray member of the suicide squad was able to wreak a whole lot of havoc; Skulduggery posed a risk he was not willing to ignore. 

Not having a clue of the whereabouts of their friend made it easier to mock their interrogators or to simply claim that they did not know. What was nagging at each and every one of them was the truth, or rather the absent of which. Where was Skulduggery? And why the hell had he not rescued them already? Had he been captured all along and Trivalis was just trying to push them beyond breaking point? Or had he managed to escape and reported back to Meritorious? 

The pure thought of the Grand Mage sitting comfortably in his fancy tent while they were out here having their skin torn and their mind beaten for a personal issue of his made Ravel seethe with anger. He would survive this hell just so he could punch Meritorious in the face.

Apart from those pressing questions, only pure joy of torture remained. Trivalis wanted to have them taken apart piece by piece and be presented with their broken and shattered shells.

When his captors finally dragged him into a vast vaulted hall, Ravel could but marvel at the scene before him. They were moving towards what looked like a stony amphitheatre. Several rows of stands moulded into a curved form rose at the far back of the vault and to his horror, it was not empty. Black-clothed guards were sitting or hunching on the stands, chatting and laughing. Noisy excitement hung lightly in the air and the sounds of people waiting for a show to start filled the room. There was the rustling of clothes, people who stood up and changed their place on the stands, chit-chatter was exchanged and to his surprise a bearded man had opened some sort of a betting pool. 

It must have been more than forty spectators and in their midst, on the top stand, sat the Major. Clad in a crisp black uniform with creases as sharp as blades, the man wore a small smile which betrayed his joyful anticipation of what was to come.

Execution.

It was the only thought that raced through Ravel's mind. They would execute him. How many of the others has he already killed?', he thought hopelessly.

Only when the golden-eyed tore his gaze away from Trivalis and lowered it to where several men were guarding five more prisoners, he understood that this was about to become a mass-execution. Making sure the Dead Men lived up to their title. Or something far worse …

Ravel was pushed to the ground next to his fellow Dead Men who were either shackled or had various weapons pointed at them. Out of habit, Erskine let his gaze wander quickly over his friends to determine their condition. Although angered at the sorry state they were in, it did not come as a surprise. Each and every one of the Dead Men were covered in bruises and cuts. Swollen lips and broken noses wherever he looked. 

It was Anton, however, who stirred worry inside him. Pearls of sweat were coating his brow and he heavily leaned on Ghastly for support lest he drop to the ground. There were no shackles on him and by the looks of it, they were not needed. Shudder's skin was even paler than usual yet two small splotches of pink burned on his cheeks. All in all, he had a feverishly air about him which probably stemmed from the stab wound inflicted by Lord Vile. Ravel was not sure how good or even if their captors had tended to the injury.

“Nice of you to drop by, Erskine”, Larrikin greeted him with a weary grin. His rasped words let Ravel know that he had not been the only one receiving special treatment when it came to food and water. Larrikin was crouched forward with his wrists shackled behind his back, favouring his left side subconsciously and Ravel suggested he had broken more than just a rib. “Late as always.”

Ravel shrugged nonchalantly. “I got lost.”

“Typical! Comes late to his own fucking execution”, Dexter snorted next to him. Exhausted and haunted blue eyes turned to him and for a moment they lost their emptiness and caught a gleeful sparkle. He, along with Ghastly, seemed to be in better shape. Both men were kneeling upright, showing openly that they would not bow. Which was what the rest tried as well but it was difficult to righten oneself when kneeling was already too much to bear.

Saracen spoke up, though his voice was no more than a whisper. He was bent over, his arms wrapped around his torso protectively. His breathing was shallow and he coughed. “I don't think this is an execution.”

“You cannot possibly know, Saracen”, Larrikin frowned. “That would mean you still have magic left and that would mean you are stronger than me which would be unacceptable.”

“It just does not feel like an execution. I mean, joy is in the air but what are they going to do? Stare us to death?” Saracen coughed and his frame trembled as he swayed, his unshackled hands grasping Dexter's shirt for support. “There are no instruments to torture us with.” More coughing silenced the mage.

“Mr. Rue is right.” The Major's voice travelled easily down the stony benches and swept over the prisoners. “Although it is a pity he has never uttered more than obscenities and cries when I was eager to converse.”

“Must be you”, Larrikin immediately shot back, earning a small smile from their captor.

“During the last few days my men have come to take a liking to you. Feedback of how impressively you withstood every torture method applied has reached me which is why I think it is time we saw some real pain.”

The Dead Men exchanged incredulous looks. Real pain? Now he wanted quality pain?

Ghastly's voice was dripping with loath. “Excuse me, what exactly have you witnessed until now? I don't mean to be rude, I am just curious.”

“You were angered and hurt, yet what I aspire to achieve is a high degree of emotional agony.”  
Ravel snorted. “Why, we do beg your pardon for not living up to your standards.”

Trivalis shifted on his bench and leaned forward, his forearm resting elegantly on his knee. “My men are in dire need for some entertainment and you, gentlemen have been chosen for tonight's performance. Unfortunately, the last member of your little band of rebels has still not shown himself. Although I do wonder who it might be. I admit, I fear this person. He or she has managed to take Mr. Pleasant's place in under a month. They must be truly powerful if they were able to pull that off.”

A short pause followed in which the Dead Men basked in this small victory. Trivalis had not found out yet that Skulduggery was still alive and roaming the corridors of the prison or else he would be shaking in his seat.

“My dear son, however”, he looked to his left where Will was proudly perching on his seat, chest swelling with pride at the mention of his persona, “tells me that the seventh member is in fact a skeleton.”

It was Larrikin who saved the day. He shook his head violently, focusing all attention on him and away from his comrades lest they give away anything. “No, no, no, no. You got that all wrong. Our new friend only likes to wear masks that look like skulls. It confuses and scares the enemy. Right, Will?” The jester smirked in his direction. “But she is very much made of flesh.”

“She?” Trivalis asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Larrikin!” Ghastly barked, anger being the prominent expression on his face. Even though, Larrikin knew it was faked, he shrank back. Perfect. It might come across even better now. 

Trivalis leaned back against the stone. “Well, this is a huge help in our search for the mysterious person sneaking through the dark shadows of Sourir de Mère. Anyway, let us proceed with the evening show.” He waved a gloved hand and several guards began stripping the Dead Men of their shirts, using knives to cut the fabric when patience ran thin.

Shudder finally collapsed to the ground in a heap when Ghastly was manhandled away and with him, his last support. One of the soldiers laughed and kicked the prone man in the ribs. Instead of a scream only a faint whimper escaped Anton's lips.

“Leave him alone!” Larrikin seethed and was immediately backhanded across the face.

“Mr. Shudder will be part of the audience due to his incapability to stand”, Trivalis announced and the disappointment was evident in his voice. “Shame. He would have been great.”

Two men picked Anton up, dragging him towards the left side of the tribune, where he was forced onto his knees. Still holding on to him, the soldiers made sure he remained in a more or less upright position, arms stretched out to the side.

It was Trivalis' next move that surprised the Dead Men: those who had been shackled, were released and each of them were offered a mug of water. Eyeing the cup's content suspiciously, none of them made a move to grasp the dearly needed drink.

“Lads? Be aware that I will personally punch the first one to drink” Ghastly warned and looked around to make sure nobody was touching their wooden cup. It could be drugged or poisoned and he needed his friends in prime condition – as prime as they could get with their bent backs and exhausted features.

Trivalis' ringing laughter echoed off the walls, making everyone turn their attention to the Major. “As much as I admire your tough demeanour, I give you my word that the water is clear, clean and as fresh as it gets out here.”

Saracen snorted. “Yeah, I have had a taste of your fresh water. Drinking from the gutter must be healthier than downing what you forced on me”, he spat and fell in a fit of coughing. Dexter grabbed him and stroked his back soothingly until Saracen had calmed down again.

“Show them.”

Each guard took a small sip from the mugs before holding them out to the prisoners once more. It was hard to imagine that the soldiers could withstand even a sip from the grotesque water the Dead Men had been given during their incarceration. Plus, it was probably not drugged since the guards seemed just fine.

Hesitantly, the parched men reached out and carefully let the first drops of water run into their dry and sandy mouths.

Ravel fought hard not to down the water in three giant gulps. Drinking this amount of cold water on empty stomach would result in cramping and immense pain. He took a small sip, let the cool fluid moisten his tongue and mouth, before finally swallowing it. It required all of his remaining mental power to move the cup away from his lips again. When he looked to his friends, he was glad to see, that everyone had had the strength to be patient.

The slightly disappointed look on Trivali's face let the Dead Men know that he had expected at least one of them greedily downing the water and exposing themselves to the pain.

Another small victory.

“Now that you are refreshed and motivated once more, let us resume with tonight's show.” Trivalis spread out his arms like a theatrical announcer. “If you please, Mr. Bespoke. Step forward.”

Cheers rose from the tribune. Soldiers clapped their hands and whistled.

Ghastly frowned. He then took another sip of his water, pushed the cup into a guard's hand and rose to his feet. “Why?” The tailor knew he looked intimidating and he had learned to use it to his advantage. It was the last card in his hand and he intended to play it. A look around showed that the guards had backed away a little and formed a semi-circle which lined up perfectly with the stone-stands. It looked like …

“Is it not obvious?” Trivalis teased with a smirk on his face. “Mr. Rue! Step forward, please.”

… an arena!

Saracen coughed again and used Dexter's shoulder as a prop as he struggled to his feet. The thoughts were racing in his mind. Trivalis was going to make them fight. The prospect of being forced to run against Ghastly weighed heavy on him. Were it a training's match, the tailor would wallop him, that was for sure. Gently but surely. But this was no mere training's match. He wondered what kind of leverage Trivalis would come up with to actually have them fight. All these people watching them; this entire spectacle becoming a success depended on whether the Dead Men would fight.

So lost in his thoughts, Saracen tripped over a small pebble which was enough to have him stagger and reach out for support. When Ghastly caught and steadied him, he lowered his head to his chest. “If he manages to make us bash each other's heads in, I want you to take me down with the first punch”, he whispered.

Surprised, Ghastly looked down at the man. His voice was hushed as well. “And have me take the blame for their little fun to end so quickly? Are you nuts?”

Breathing heavily, Saracen looked up, desperation carved into his features. “I can barely stand. Breathing at this point is an ordeal. Let me have some darkness.”

Ghastly took in the dark shadows under Saracen's eyes, wondering for how long they had kept him awake. There were cuts and bruises covering his naked torso and he favoured his left leg. Four deep gashes on his chest that had begun to heal badly stood in stark contrast to his pale skin. “If they are able to force us, and that is a big 'if', at least try.”

Saracen nodded and coughed again and swayed dangerously. He closed his eyes for a moment as the world started spinning before his eyes. “Just, please ...”

“Shit, Saracen”, Ghastly hissed, worry flooding his chest. “Alright, I’ll make it quick.”

“You can conspire all you want, gentlemen. It will help you nought”, Trivalis announced gleefully. Although, he had not caught any word of their private conversation, he suspected them to have come up with some sort of a plan which would serve them to escape or manipulate him into reconsidering. It wouldn't work. 

Ghastly looked up at their captor and jutted his chin out. “I will not fight Saracen. And certainly not for your … your pleasure”, he spat disgustedly. It was worth a try. Not that it would actually work but he'd be damned if he didn't try.

“Having expected this answer, please look to your left and focus on Mr. Shudder.” His voice had gone darker, meaner and more cunning.

Anton was not even able to lift his head before the whip came cracking down on his back. A scream ripped from his throat and he sagged in the soldier's tight grip. When he looked up to meet his friends' eyes, there was a feverish glimmer in his dark eyes and his cheeks burned a dark pink. It was clear to everyone that Shudder would not be able to prevail for much longer.

“No!” The Dead Men voiced their protest and loathing in one word.

Trivalis smirked. He had won. “Then fight, gentlemen. The rules are simple. Everything is allowed, fists, feet, magic even but I doubt any of you are strong enough to muster it up. Winner will be declared the one who knocks his opponent unconscious. Every swing, every punch and every kick you refuse to deliver, Mr. Shudder will take responsibility for.”

Anton whimpered as he was forced in an upright position again. His head sank onto his chest again and his breathing picked up speed. 

“This is madness!” Ravel cried. Two guards had to grab him by the shoulders and wrestle him back down onto his knees.

A non-committal shrug from the Major. “It keeps my men in high spirits. And I was gracious. I could have set the rules so that the winner will only be declared when one of the fighters is dead. But I grant, either one of you would rather have Mr. Shudder be flogged to death before taking a friend's life yourself.” He ignored the curses and shouts from the Dead Men and stood, arms in the air. “Gents, tonight we have two marvellous fighters in our ring for the first encounter. To your right, Mr. Ghastly Bespoke, tailor, boxer, rebel soldier! Elemental! And to your left, Mr. Saracen Rue, wise guy, swordsman, rebel soldier! Adept! Who will win? Place your bets and let the fight begin!”

Cheers and shouts erupted on the stands as the guards locked their eyes onto the small arena where Saracen took two steps back. Hesitantly, he brought his trembling hands up and moved into his fighting position.

“Saracen? You okay with this?”, Ghastly asked, a worried expression creeping into his features. The tailor could see how weak his friend was. His stance was fragile and insecure. There was no way he would hit him without his consent. He looked over his shoulder. “Anton? If Saracen refuses to be fought, I will not touch him.”

“Fine”, Shudder rasped and managed half a smile. As much as he wanted to avoid any pain at this point, he would not guilt-trip Saracen into being beaten by Ghastly. Deep down he hoped Saracen would agree to the terms and it made him feel selfish.

“Go ahead.” Saracen did not fool himself. His twisted ankle was screaming in pain when he put any weight on it and his entire body ached. Just standing upright put an enormous strain on him. Yet he would at least pretend to defend himself against Ghastly – for Anton's sake. He was too weak for a proper fight.

The kick came out of nowhere.

Saracen was hit hard in the ribs and gasped from the pain stabbing his side. He stumbled back and instinctively brought his arms up to block the logical punch to the side of his head. Ghastly's fist scraped uselessly against his forearm and for a split-second their eyes met. Almost gently, almost apologetically, Ghastly drove Saracen's weak blockage aside and brought in a punch to knock his lights out.

Saracen dropped like a stone and didn't move no more.

Immediately, the tailor was at his side, checking his vitals. To his relief, he really had only rendered him unconscious. Saracen would wake soon. Ignoring the cheering and hollering swashing down the stands, Ghastly gently picked his friend up and carried him back to where the other Dead Men were still kneeling and shouting abuse at their captors. The way his jaw was locked and his eyes glinted hatefully betrayed how furious he was. He had been forced to choose between two of his friends and – naturally – he had not taken it well.

“Marvellous!” Trivalis exclaimed, rising from his seat. He paid the curses and insults no heed; if anything, he seemed to thrive on them. “Even though it was an uneven and rather short match, we were entertained. However, I claim that Mr. Bespoke was unreasonably harsh on his friend. Could it perhaps be that he wanted to grant Mr. Rue some rest?”

Ghastly froze. It had been too obvious. He looked up from where he was nursing an unconscious Saracen. “He claimed to be fine. I took it as a sign to attack. Saracen must have misjudged how much strength he had left.”

Trivalis mockingly pulled one corner of his mouth up. “Dancing on the edge, are we, Mr. Bespoke? Since I have no proof of either of you cheating I might let it pass … Or wait, no. I do not allow cheating at my matches. I shall have to demonstrate what happens if you cross me.” The Major inclined his head portentously in Shudder's direction. Only a short moment later, the mage behind Shudder had raised his whip and once again it came cracking down on his bare back.

Anton hated the fact that he served as leverage. They were using him to make his comrades fight and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Guilt washed through him and the feeling of utter hopelessness weighed heavily on him. Anton tried everything to hold back his scream that threatened to tear his ribcage open. If he couldn't stop the whip, at least he could remain quiet and give his friends the illusion of him being able to bear the beating. But he couldn't. His pained cry rang loudly in the vault.

“Fuck you!” Dexter shouted at the top of his lungs. His face was contorted in anger as he was restrained by two men who had to use all of their strength to keep the struggling mage under control.

Trivalis ignored the insults and spread out his arms again. “Please, let me hear it for our next fighter. Unfortunately, he has refused to give up his last name which is why we shall address him as Mr. Larrikin!”

Larrikin shoved the guards away and pushed to his feet. He grabbed his cup of water and took another sip before bowing mockingly, his arm performing a sweeping arch. “At your service”, he spat. The ginger's brow was furrowed in anger and his lips were pressed shut. Larrikin downed another sip of water before handing his mug to a soldier and stepped forward. Defiant. Irate.

“And Mr. Ravel! Raise it for a battle between two Elementals! How about we raise the stakes? The loser will be flogged when he wakes again. Ten lashes!”

Ravel shook his head and sighed. This was a nightmare. Unsure if he was even able to stand on his own he pushed himself off the floor and shakily got to his feet. Tentatively, he moved towards the middle of the arena where Larrikin was already waiting for him. He still did not trust his legs.

“For Anton?” the ginger whispered.

“For Anton.”

 

Six days ago … 

Lord Vile walked beneath the naked and seemingly lifeless branches of the trees. It was the day after the grand battle against the Dead Men and as he was strolling through the forest, he realised he was fond of autumn. He admired the way the sun drew tendrils of shadow on the floor, like long-fingered skeletal fingers reaching out from beyond the grave to be permitted a second chance in the realm of the living. Colourful fallen leaves cushioned his heavy steps and he recognised their beauty, even in death. Autumn was the time everything that was good died. All these deaths meant something and in spring new roots, new sprouts would be taking the place of the fallen ones.

“Is it not beautiful, Skulduggery?”

Skulduggery had barricaded himself behind a strong mental wall which he had devised in such a manner that he could hear Vile's thoughts but his were – hopefully – shielded from the Necromancer. “What do you want?”

“Oh, don't be like that,” Vile hummed good-naturedly. In his opinion it was only understandable that Skulduggery was moping yet it was time he accepted his fate. “Enjoy the sun, the beauty of the forest and the fresh autumn air.”

Skulduggery preferred not to answer. Talking to his subconsciousness come to life was weird in itself but he feared he might be outwitted by Vile. He was incredibly cunning and had a tongue quicker than a busy bee – which was only natural, considering from whose brain he had been born.  
Skulduggery kept a close eye on Vile and even if at the moment his options concerning escape were limited he liked to know what devilry his subconsciousness would be coming up with next.

“What do you want to do now?”

“Take my body and mind back. What about you?” Skulduggery was very stroppy in his tone which made Lord Vile chuckle.

“Good luck with that. As for my next move, I shall simply enjoy this pretty autumn afternoon.”

Skulduggery decided that this was more than suspicious and stayed sharp. It was when they reached the brim of a small glade that Skulduggery realised what this 'stroll' had been all about. 

Before him, the trees stood further apart, forming an oval shaped clearing. Matted yellowish grass spiked with orange and red leaves flowed around several small boulders. They looked like a giant had been playing with them just seconds ago but then shifted his attention to another toy and just let them lie how they had fallen.

Twenty yards away, at the other side of the clearing, shielded by shadows and bushes, he could make out the faint silhouette of a human leaning against the trunk of a tree. The person had put thought into their hideout but it was not nearly enough. Skulduggery recognised her immediately.

Racine.

“What is the meaning of this?” Skulduggery hissed. Fear and anger battled for the upper hand and had he had a heart, it would have been in his mouth. The question was redundant; he already knew what Vile was demonstrating here. It was him who controlled Skulduggery's life now, it was him and him alone who decided over life or death. Might and power belonged to him now.

“I thought you wanted to pay an old friend a visit? After all, you promised her to talk after your mission right? Well, your mission failed royally and here you are. Go for it, tiger.”

Skulduggery basically growled inside his mind when Vile laughed. “Oh, but I am forgetting. You cannot voice your thoughts. All you can do, is … watch. All you can ever do is watch.”

The statement hit Skulduggery like a hammer. Watch. He had not been able to do more when Serpine had broken Nemesis' neck. He had watched on as his baby girl had been killed. When his friends, his comrades had been beaten he had been forced to watch. It was sickening! Skulduggery had been unable to save anyone he held close to his heart. What was left for him was watch them suffer and die. And it would happen again.

“Leave her alone”, Skulduggery threatened warningly. 

Vile huffed amused. “Or … ?”

There was no 'or'. They both knew.

Helpless and bound, Skulduggery watched as Lord Vile stepped into the glade, fully exposing himself to sharp eyes. Agonisingly slow step after agonisingly slow step he took and each one reduced the distance between him and his prey.

“Stop this!”

Racine had noticed the black knight approach and tried to scramble back. Her eyes darted from left to right to determine whether there were more figures closing in. There were none. How could they have found her so quickly? Racine's hopes sank when the towering man in black armour came closer. She was too weak to attack, too hurt to run.

Skulduggery was able to see the girl's frightful expression and it broke his heart. Would he be responsible for this death as well?

An image of Kara flashed before Skulduggery's eyes. Sweet Kara. It was not Racine any more, crawling for her life but his daughter. Her auburn plait unkempt, her clothes dirty and torn. Skulduggery could hear her cries for help, could hear her calling out.

“Kara ...”

Vile halted, suddenly interested. “Kara? You see your daughter in this piece of scum?”

Skulduggery ignored him. Every sense he was able to control concentrated on the retreating figure on the ground before him. They had hurt his daughter. They had tortured his baby girl. Skulduggery watched Kara crawl, tears streaming down her face as she cried for help. The plait dragged across the ground and small twigs and leaves tangled up in her hair.

Racine clenched her teeth against the pain still raging through her body and concentrated. The knight had stopped. This was her one and only chance. She pictured water flowing through the roots of the trees, raised her hand and using the last bit of strength she had left, Racine lashed out. Following her movements, a strong earth-covered root broke free of the ground and darted straight for Vile's helmet.

Skulduggery saw the approaching root but in his little illusionary bubble, it was a stick, hurtled by Kara who had poured her last strength into this one attack. That was his daughter, courageous in the face of evil. Karath would fight until the end. She would never bow even though her fear was evident in her tears and cries. Kara. Who called out to him when she needed him. Skulduggery, who had let her die. One moment she had been there and the next she was gone.

Dead.

Skulduggery had thought that perhaps he could drown out his shrieking agony by accepting a mission, by fighting behind enemy lines, yet he had known from the beginning he was being delusional. Nothing could blot out the pain he was experiencing and would continue to experience for as long as he lived.

Racine cried out in pain as a shadow slammed into her and she was sent careening back until she smacked into a tree. A faint whimper escaped her lips but her eyes shone bright with determination.

Kara.

Skulduggery had only eyes for his daughter. “Vile, stop this.” His voice was calm but deep within him a rage began to spark. A rage so furious and hot he thought it might burn Vile right out of his mind.

“So she is reminding you of your daughter. How sweet. I will have all the more fun torturing her, beating her and finally killing her. Again. You will see your girl die again.” He laughed menacingly and raised his arm to deliver a punch which would break bone.

“I said STOP!” Skulduggery roared and the boiling hatred and rage spilled over. Fiery streams of anger shot through his body and once again he was battling Vile inside his mind. Darkness against fire and light. “I … will not … bow!” Skulduggery seethed and drove Vile back.

Lord Vile was overwhelmed by the sheer force and determination Skulduggery was showing. He had to admit, he had underestimated him – again. Light tore away at his substance until he was reduced to a small thread of thought. A thread that was banned into a brightly lit area of Skulduggery's reclaimed mind.

Racine gaped as the darkness forming the armour of the hostile knight slowly flowed away and dispersed into the shadows of the forest around her. The man dropped to his knees, hands on his head as more and more shadows left him. When even that last shroud of darkness had vanished she stared at a skeleton in a combat suit. And not just any skeleton.  
Skulduggery Pleasant.


	18. The Past is in the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Mention of torture/torture

Seventeen years ago, somewhere in Ireland …

Quiet lay the the nightly forest beneath the sky, only the occasional rustling of bushes could be heard when small animals moved around the trees. Above, the sky could sporadically be seen through the leave canopy and the one or other star twinkled against the darkness of the evening. After sunset, the world tipped into blackness rapidly and it soon became difficult to see one's hand before their eyes.

“Tell me again, why do we have to do this?” Erskine asked while he attempted to find a comfortable position on the ground where no root would poke his back during the night.

“Hunting a war criminal who kills mortals for sport on a regular basis sounds worth to be looked into”, Dexter answered dryly. He was in the middle of trying to get a fire starting and honestly, he was not cut out for this task. “Can any of you useless Elementals provide some fire, please?”

Skulduggery snapped his fingers and threw a precise fireball onto the piled logs and twigs. Smirking devilishly, he watched Vex leap back from the flames shooting up and fall over his own feet, consequently landing on his butt. “Beware the wrath of the useless, Dexter.”

Laughter rang in the clear evening air.

“It does seem a bit unusual for us to be sent to incarcerate a war criminal. Too straight-forward in comparison to what madness our missions usually involve, don't you think?” Larrikin mused.

Ghastly clamped a hand over Larrikin's mouth and shushed him. “Never say something is easy and straight-forward before an encounter, young one.”

Larrikin struggled in Ghastly's grasp but the tailor was far too strong for him to shake off. Ghastly made a worried face. “Did he jinx it?”

Skulduggery nodded. “Probably.”

“Darn”, Ghastly grumbled and let go of Larrikin. “Everything that will go wrong from now on I shall blame on your petty ass.”

The peacefulness of the moment was brutally disrupted when Shudder came barging through the undergrowth towards where the rest of the Dead Men had started to make camp. Abandoning their respective tasks, they turned their attention towards Anton, who never even halted to explain.

“We need to go!” Shudder shouted and grabbed his bag in mid-run, before he disappeared between the trunks of the trees again.

Cursing, the Dead Men hastily snatched up their backpacks and satchels, not caring if everything was inside. Now they had to save what was left to save. And off they went, following Anton into the dark forest which was slowly becoming even darker.

“Whatever happened?” Saracen asked once he had caught up to their friend.

“You know … Stuff.”

“They spotted you? You?”

Shudder remained silent and focused on running without being skewered by any low-hanging branches. He had failed in his mission to scout out the enemy. They had been trailing Trivalis and his men for over five days and had been so close to finally putting him in irons. So close and now he had bungled the job.

Ghastly manoeuvred around a tree. “Can't be helped now. I am quite certain they were aware of us being onto them. I say it was a trap. But I still blame Larrikin for jinxing it.”

“I am innocent!”

Dexter snorted. He had been looking forward to a peaceful night. Sleep and the quietness of guard duty next to a warm fire, cosily snuggled into his coat. But no, they had to flee again and the following hours would be packed with running, ducking, sprinting and sneaking. And if they were really unlucky, battling. That being said, Dexter mentally prepared himself for the upcoming fight; bad luck followed them like an overeager lover.

“How many?” Larrikin asked. Even after a long day of hiking and occasional jogs, the ginger seemed in prime condition. Neither was he out of breath nor did he show any sign of exhaustion.

“Uh … “

Ravel frowned. “Anton?”

“Some, I think.”

“It's all of them, am I right?”

“Maybe not all of them.”

Saracen took a leap over a small bush, almost losing his footing in the gloom. “What do we do now? Skul? Time for a plan.”

“Run?” So far Skulduggery had not contributed to the conversation which was why the advice was received with more groans and curses.

“Left!” Saracen suddenly hissed and changed course. The others followed closely like a flock of fledglings trailing after their mother.

And that was the exact moment when everything went south. Or perhaps even further south than things had already gone. Anton had started off by disturbing a wasp's nest, consequently sending them on a wild chase through a darkening forest with an entire group of enemy soldiers in pursuit. What they did not know yet, was that they were about to stumble upon one teeny complication which would initiate a chain reaction of disaster. 

Skulduggery was taken off his feet by a stick that smashed into his chest. A surprised gasp escaped his mouth as all air was pressed out of his lungs and he landed hard. He focused on his attacker who emerged from behind a tree he had used for cover, and rolled to the side when the soldier aimed for his head. Skulduggery kicked out and landed a blow on the man's knee before knocking him over with a hard push against the air. 

Around Skulduggery, his friends were heavily engaged in battle. Fireballs were flying, swords were ringing and curses were voiced. The mage tried to suck air into his lungs and propped himself up on his elbow. Strong hands grabbed him by the arms and helped him up and Skulduggery was about to flash a smile at whoever had offered his hand. His endearing words of thanks got stuck in his throat once he realised it was two masked soldiers.

“Darn”, Skulduggery mumbled as a knife pressed into his skin at his throat. He refrained from swallowing out of fear to be cut.

“Have your men stand down”, a smooth voice ordered right next to his ear.

Skulduggery would have shaken his head were it not for the cold steel. “They never listen anyway so why bother?” He clenched his teeth as the knife drew some blood. Skulduggery cleared his throat carefully. “Guys?”

Had the situation not been as tense as it was, it would have been comical and irritating at the same time. None of the combatants paid any heed to Skulduggery, who currently was in mortal danger. At least according to himself. He could have been decapitated and nobody would have seen it. Frowning with irritation at the lack of attention he received, Skulduggery watched on as his comrades continued to happily battle their respective opponents. 

“Oi!”

Ghastly was the first to notice Skulduggery's predicament and made a move towards his friend. An arm had snaked under his arm and held onto his shoulder and the other poked the tip of a knife under Skulduggery's chin. The face of the assailant was hidden behind a mask covering the lower half of his face. The night did one last thing in concealing the man. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Another step and he is dead”, the smooth voice in the shadows threatened.

It happened in an instant. Dexter and Anton grabbed the soldier nearest to them, half hid behind him and Dexter mockingly drew his narrow dagger to hold it against the soldier's throat. Even though the man looked ruthless and brutal, there were still beads of sweat starting to form on his brow. Fear was no stranger to him. “Don't think because we are the good guys, we can't do low!”

They had efficiently manoeuvred themselves into a classy stalemate. Those members of the Dead Men who were not busy being held hostage or holding hostages themselves, pointed their weapons. The situation looked dire, however. Only now could they see how many enemies they faced; the suicide squad was outnumbered five to one. 

For a moment nobody talked. Then the leader of the attackers spoke in a cold voice. “He is but a lowly soldier. What do I care about him?”

“We will not hesitate to end his life”, Ghastly snarled. It was a lie. Assassinating unarmed hostages to escape was not a solution they would take into account easily. None of them had a problem with killing. Yet there had to be a reason and a good one at that. This was not one of them.

The Mask hiding behind Skulduggery laughed but it didn't sound amused at all. “Kill him. Once you do, you will have no leverage.”

“So you do admit that he is valid and can be used as leverage”, Larrikin pointed out and turned his head to their hostage. “You hear that? Your boss might still rescue you. Just like we have to find a way to save our dearest friend who managed to get himself captured.”

“Oi!”

Ravel shook his head. “Absolutely useless that man.”

“I feel so betrayed!” Skulduggery grumbled.

“Gentlemen! Please. This is not necessary. Surrender yourself to me and you might even live to see the sun rise tomorrow.”

Ghastly spoke up. “How about a deal? You give us our friend back and in return we let this soldier go?”

“I decline. The loss of a single man is meaningless to me if I can get my hands on the famous Dead Men. Alive and at my mercy.”

Saracen frowned. “If you want us alive, then holding Skulduggery hostage should not hinder us from taking out more of your men. After all, there shouldn't be any consequences for either him nor us.”

“Wisely spoken, Mr. Rue”, the man praised and when he saw the surprise on Saracen's face, he added: “Yes, I do know each and every one of you. There used to be a time when I was in awe whenever I heard the soldiers whisper tales of the Dead Men. I would collect every information possible for I knew, one day I would be the one to use it against you.”

“Congratulations. And?” Larrikin interrupted rudely. He tried not to let it show but nervousness was making him fidgety, yet he forced himself to remain still. The tension in the air was almost palpable.

“Loyalty and Passion. These are the emotions which will bring you down.”  
An arrow came whizzing from the darkness and embedded itself in the heart of the captured soldier. He opened his mouth in a silent gasp and his expression of surprise screwed up in pain and then – nothing. 

Dexter gaped at the dead man in his arms and slowly let the slack body glide down on the ground. Almost gently, he closed the soldier's eyes before he straightened again, arms crossed defensively before his chest. The muscles of his jaw twitched treacherously and there was only so much restraint he possessed. Certainly, there was no sympathy for someone who used their own soldiers as shields and expendable pawns.

“Put down your weapons”, the Mask demanded calmly, as though he had not had his own man executed. To put more pressure behind his order, he moved the dagger away from Skulduggery's throat and slit it under his collar, pointing at his shoulder. Agonisingly slow he began driving the blade into his skin.

Skulduggery hissed from the pain but dared not move.

Ghastly's thoughts raced, ideas and plans popped into his head and with every passing second they became more surreal. Should they resist further? On the one hand, their Lieutenant had not given the order to surrender yet and Ghastly was certain he would not. Skulduggery could cope with pain, he would still grin. Always. There was also the not so inconsiderate matter of his pride. Yet, they were heavily outnumbered and needed every man they had and that included Skulduggery.

“Do as he says”, Skulduggery ordered courtly.

This came unsuspected. It took the Dead Men two seconds and more pained sounds from Skulduggery to finally comply. What was he thinking? What bizarre idea whirred around in that head of his?

Ravel was the first to drop his sword and crossed his arms before his chest expectantly. Eager to learn of their friend's fine plan he nodded to his comrades, encouraging them to follow his lead. “This is going to prove interesting.”

“I would think so as well. Ne'er has it been that the Dead Men surrendered themselves”, the Mask observed and removed the knife from Skulduggery's shoulder but took care to press it against his throat once more.

One by one, they discarded their various weapons which were collected by a soldier and carelessly stuffed into a linen bag. As soon as the Dead Men were unarmed, each of them was grabbed by two soldiers.

“Search them.”

Roughly, the captured were patted down and objects of interest and withheld weapons were tossed into the linen bag. While the soldiers were thorough, their hands lingered too long on their bodies when frisking certain areas. It was a cheap method, straight out of the handbook for psychological warfare. The message sent was loud and clear, meant to intimidate and humiliate. They belonged to their captors.

Instead of remaining rooted to the spot while waiting awkwardly and ashamed until the scrutiny was over, the prisoners whistled and made lewd comments to put the soldiers off. Even Anton, who normally preferred a more stoic approach, winked at the man groping around his pockets.

“Put them in irons”, the Mask ordered sternly but his voice sounded slightly irritated, if not annoyed.

To their surprise, three soldiers stepped forward with a heavy chain. Shackles were dangling from the main chain links at regular intervals. Had their attackers been pursuing them, carrying those? They must have weighed at least twenty to twenty-five pounds and what if they had been unable to capture the Dead Men? How humiliating would it have been to drag these back?

“Do we let ourselves be shackled?” Ravel asked and Skulduggery nodded, stretching out his hands to be put in irons. Somehow, this entire scene had all the qualities of a bunch of children who did not quite understand their mother's reasoning but were raised well enough to follow instructions without a question. And of course the chains were magic-binding.

Only when the Dead Men were shackled with their hands behind their backs, the Mask sheathed the knife again. Silently, he turned to leave and motioned his soldiers to follow him.

“So? The plan?” Saracen asked eagerly as they started moving awkwardly in a long line like ducklings.

Skulduggery half-turned and smiled disarmingly. “I don't have one.”

“What do you mean, you have no plan?” Ghastly cut in and quite frankly, he sounded exasperated. 

“I do – sort of.”

“You just admitted, you didn't have one! Normally, we trust you without hesitation but this is ridiculous”, Dexter groaned.

Skulduggery shrugged and his chains clanked. “No worries. Had we fought against them we would have been subdued brutally. Some of us might have died which is why I opted for surrendering.”

“You make it sound as though you had heroically negotiated our fate and lives with their leader when really all you did was stand still as he was holding a knife to your throat”, Saracen accused.

“It worked, didn't it?”

Collective groans was the only answer the Dead Men were willing to give.

“In all earnest”, Skulduggery continued and his comrades noted the change of tone in his voice. Jokes and banter aside. “This was the best possible way to get inside their base unscathed. I need each and every one of you as uninjured as possible for this mission.”

Ghastly frowned, concerned. “What if he hadn't wanted us alive? You couldn't possibly know that he wanted to capture us.”

“It was an educated guess since the soldier who took me down used a stick but there was a sword girt at his hip all the same. Had he carried orders to kill at sight, he would have without doubt cut me in half. I figured, there was something more to it when I was not executed right away but my life bargained with.”

Anton snorted. “Were I that guy, I would have killed us the moment I realised who we were.”

“Lucky for us, our host does not seem to have too big a brain.”

“Size doesn't matter”, Larrikin joked.

“Is that what you whispered in the soldier's ear when he had his hands all over you?” Ravel teased, bemused and a round of good-natured laughter rose into the nightly sky.

Led by the Mask, the troupe of soldiers and their line of ducklings arrived at a small village which was surrounded by an admittedly puny picket fence. Four guards stood at the gate and started whispering to one another when they spotted the prisoners. The Dead Men only heard bits and pieces.

“… Dead Men ...”

“… believed to be invincible. Always win ...”

“… ridiculous that is …”

“… sided with the Devil himself and sold their souls ...”

The Dead Men looked at one another. This was their reputation amongst enemy soldiers? True, they never had had the chance to actually ask any of them but this seemed a bit over the top.

Cold and dark lay the village before them; not a light was to be seen which was both odd and completely understandable at the same time. Odd, because it was only two or three hours after sunset and the villagers usually would sit around their hearths inside the houses and tell tales or sing songs. On the other hand it seemed only natural for people to remain inside, barricade the doors and windows and make neither sound nor light with these monsters crawling in the dark. Were there even villagers still living here or had Mevolent's soldiers driven them out?

“I am in awe, the atmosphere is brimming with excitement”, Dexter commented and promptly earned a jab in the ribs with the hilt of a sword.

The Dead Men were herded together in the tiny market place in the exact centre of the village, right next to a small chapel whose doors stood gaping apart and warm torchlight flowed out into the night.

Taking off his mask, the man who had led the chase and turned to his prisoners. It was a somewhat anxious moment when they would finally find out who was behind the mask. To their surprise the man looked not a day older than forty. Pitch-black emotionless eyes sat like gems beneath thin eyebrows. Clean-shaven cheeks glowed orange in the light of the torches and the thin lips stretched into something that could have resembled a smile.

“Welcome to our humble outpost”, the man said and clasped his hands behind his back as though he were going to have a speech. God forbid. “My name is Major Arthur Trivalis. Now that we all know each other, I shall retire to my quarters and leave you in the capable hands of my soldiers.”

Ravel cursed when he was grabbed roughly and his shackles removed. “Larrikin, I think you will get to see your lover again soon.”

“I am certain they wouldn't touch us with a pair of pliers”, Ghastly answered dryly while he was being manhandled to a square slab of stone. Once, it must have been used as a podium for priests or merchants, yet at the moment it looked like a perfect place for executing prisoners. The slab stood about half a yard from the ground and the stone itself was rough. It measured four times four meters and as they approached, the Dead Men could see strong thick iron rings spiking the surface which must have been drilled into the rock recently.

“Seriously?” Saracen asked.

The chain was threaded through several rings before the soldiers shackled their prisoners again. Although the chain itself was not secured, they had no means of escape – unless they managed to pull several of their own through tiny metal rings.

“This is going to be a very long night”, Dexter remarked grumpily.

“I should be sitting next to a warm fire, pondering the meaning of life and what do I get instead?” Anton grumbled. “A cold night under the sky, chained to a rock with you lot.”

Skulduggery grimaced. “Should we feel offended? After all, it has been you to startle them.”

“Alright, alright. Everything is my fault. What about Saracen, though? You led us right into a trap, mate.”

Saracen perked up, his brow furrowing in the gloom. “I honestly have no idea how this could have happened. I knew there were soldiers waiting for us on the right but the left was surprisingly clear. In retrospect, it might have been a tad too clear.”

“They are able to conceal their presences then? Does that mean you can locate presences?” Dexter asked, eager to learn anything about Saracen's power.

“I don't sense presences, no. I just know things.” Saracen stuck his tongue out in Dexter's direction.  
Ravel yawned and rubbed his eyes. The way he was sitting with his legs outstretched, he looked like a toddler. “How about we all try to get some sleep? It was generous of our captors to not shackle our hands behind our backs this time and we should make the best of it.”

Collective sounds of affirmation were uttered and a commotion followed as everyone attempted to find a comfortable position to sleep. Every time one of them pulled at the chains to adjust, someone else was pulled over the stone a few inches by their wrists. Feet and hands jabbed stomachs and backs and fingers poked eyes. In the end the Dead Men fell asleep, half on top someone else, consequently forming a huge pile of entangled limbs.

Skulduggery woke when something was poking his leg. Cracking an eye open, he blinked in the gloom of the dawn and looked around. His friends were still fast asleep, competing hard who could snore the loudest.

“Who are you?” a whispered voice asked.

Skulduggery sat up, bringing chaos to their pile. Next to the slab of stone stood a child; it could not have been older than seven. Bright green eyes shone through the dirt covering the boy's face and his shoulder-length hair was frizzy and messily tied back in a ponytail. Skulduggery stared at the kid. What child would willingly walk up to a heap of prisoners and ask them who they were? He quickly glanced at the chapel where Trivalis obviously had his main base. The doors were still gaping and three mages were standing guard. Until now, they hadn't seen the boy huddling next to the prisoners.

“Are you a fighter?”

Skulduggery motioned the boy to keep down and opened his mouth to answer but had to close it again, too stumped for an answer.

“And they say you are good with children”, Ghastly suddenly whispered next to him. “Hullo there, young one. We are the new prisoners.”

When they boy saw the horrid scars running down Ghastly's face he shrank back with a gasp but collected himself again and took a step forward. His small hands were balled to fists at his sides when he took a defensive stand.

“Don't worry, lad”, Skulduggery smiled. “Ghastly couldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it.”

“Those soldiers … they deserve it”, the boy whispered and averted his gaze. “They killed my brother when he tried to escape and get help.”

Skulduggery and Ghastly exchanged a knowing look. Hope had brought the boy to them, hope that they could save them. He had abandoned every reasoning, sneaked out of the house in order to speak to a group of strangers. Odds were high he would be killed if he were discovered.

“What's your name, boy?” Ghastly wanted to know.

“Alastar.”

“We are prisoners, Alastar. What makes you think we could help?”

“You – you, the soldiers talked about you. They are scared of you, even if you are in chains.”  
Skulduggery moved into a more comfortable position, consequently waking Ravel and Dexter who blinked sleepily. Alastar took a step back again, his eyes filled with tears.

“What is going on?”, Larrikin asked and was immediately shushed by everyone else.

“My, my. So aggressive and it's not even sunrise. Anton, wake up!” The jester shook Shudder and Saracen awake who had been lying undermost. They were probably the ones with the most aching bodies.

Alastar looked as though he might break into a run any second. Although the Dead Men were chained up, he was still facing seven grown men. Grown men in black combat suits, with eyes that had seen too much. Highly trained no less or else they wouldn't be so calm upon waking up chained to a rock. 

Ghastly held up a hand, the irons clanking dangerously loud. “It is fine, Alastar. We won't hurt you, you have my word.”

“Who is the boy?” Anton asked curious but concerned at the same time. “You shouldn't be here, lad. If those men discover you, there will be hell to pay. Especially if you are seen conversing with us. We are not exactly on a friendly basis with the Major.”

“I couldn't just do nothing”, the boy sobbed. “They threaten us, they beat us and they are … they are … “

It was Dexter who answered in his stead. “Mages. They are mages.”

Incredulous, the boy stared at them. Viewing them in a different light, Alastar sniffed. “Witchers we call them. They have fire and … other strange powers. So there is nothing you can do? They are too powerful. Or could you… could you beat them?” His voice was so broken and hopeful, the Dead Men looked at one another, unsure what to say, what to do.

Saracen sighed. “At the moment, we cannot even save ourselves but if we manage to get free, we will do everything in our power to help your village.”

“Alastar, listen to me and listen carefully”, Skulduggery turned serious and leaned forward. “Leave it to us. Do not under any circumstance get involved in this, do you understand? Nobody in the village is to talk to us. Ignore us. Don't try to help us. Did I make myself clear?”

Alastar nodded.

“Now go before you are seen”, Larrikin said and they watched the boy scurry into the gloom.  
Saracen was the first to speak. “How exactly have we managed to get emotionally involved on a mission again?”

“What if it is a trap?” Dexter wondered.

Shudder raised an eyebrow. “You really know how to ruin a moment, don't you?”

Dexter only shrugged.

It turned out that not only the villagers who reluctantly left their homes in the morning to work in the fields, were ignoring them. Trivalis' men let them relieve themselves early in the morning and then proceeded to disregard their presence entirely. No food or water had been offered to them, which was already enough to piss them off but the lack of attention was downright frustrating and … insulting.

“Trivalis is keen on waging a psychological war here”, Ravel pointed out. “I am sure, he means to intimidate us further and leave us in the dark as to what will happen to us. He hopes to make us nervous and anxious enough so when the actual torturing begins our nerves will be raw.”

Anton looked up and removed his arm he had draped dramatically over his eyes to shield them from the sun. His head was resting on Ghastly's thigh and his legs were crossed. All in all, he looked very comfortable. “And? Is it working?”

“Hm, I am bored. Anyone know a tale to pass the time?”

While continuing to carry their carefree mask on the outside, the Dead Men closely observed the villagers and the soldiers. Of course they noted the inquisitive stolen glances. Ghastly especially was a target when it came to curiosity. 

All too soon it became clear why the Dead Men were being left in peace: Trivalis' men started to humiliate and bother the farmers in front of them. They had to call on every ounce of self-restraint they possessed to remain silent and not interfere. It would have goaded the soldiers on even more and there would have been nothing the suicide squad could have done to prevent it. As much as it hurt them to see these poor people being beaten and berated because of them, they didn't want to add to their suffering even more. So they kept their heads down.

Trouble really started around noon of the following day. The day had begun as sunny as the day before had been and a cloudless sky was spanning above which had the temperatures rise unusually high. Ireland was never sunny except on those days when a group of rebel soldiers was chained to a big rock in an open space. On those days temperatures went through the roof. All of them were sweating and thirst became their number one problem. It was not even that hot but the sun burned directly down on the prisoners and them wearing black combat suits didn't help matters either.  
Larrikin had been quiet for some time now and it was only when he groaned slightly and swayed, his friends shifted their attention to him.

“Larrikin?” Saracen asked, concerned and grabbed his shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
Worried glances were exchanged once they saw Larrikin's face screw up in pain and he shielded his eyes with his arm.

“I can't stand this. The heat ...”, Larrikin finally rasped his confession. During the night he had barely slept and his body had felt hot all over. His skin had been tingling and he had seen funny colourful swirls whenever he had closed his eyes. While the others were still sunburnt from the day before, his face was pale and he started to shiver, which were two very clear signs to get him out of the sun. He was covered in cold sweat.

Skulduggery edged closer and involuntarily pulled Ravel with him. “What do you mean, you can't stand the heat? What heat?”

“I mean, not the heat as such. I have no problem with heat. It is the sun that gets to me. If I am exposed to the sun for too long, I get horrendous headaches, my skin becomes clammy even though the air is warm and I start to feel cold. My head begins to swim and my sight becomes blurred. The worst that has happened so far is me puking my guts out for three hours.”

“Just don't let them know this. They would roast you for days!” Anton hissed.

“Not helpful”, Dexter said. “Come here, Larrikin, let's get you some shade.” He waved the ginger over and motioned him to lay down in his lap. “How long have you kept this quiet?”

“I started to feel dizzy yesterday in the afternoon. The aftermath of this sun sickness during the night was an ordeal.”

“Should have said something”, Ghastly remarked.

Instead of an answer, Larrikin flopped down and rested his head against Dexter's abdomen. When he looked up he could see Dexter lean over him protectively, blotting out the sun. The Energythrower placed his chained wrists on Larrikin's chest. Grateful, Larrikin closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of darkness. “Thank you”, he croaked.

With the catastrophe averted, the others felt free and obliged even to make jokes and witty comments about Larrikin's repulsion towards the sun.

“What are the chances, Larrikin is a vampire?” Saracen smirked.   
Ghastly snickered. “I think he is a dainty fragile nobleman who is scared to ruin his perfectly white skin and be kicked out of his dainty club of pale men.”

Larrikin managed a smile. “I can hear all of you, you jerks.”

When it came to the Dead Men, however, the next calamity was already lurking around the corner. And there it was, in the form of an old woman approaching the slab of stone. At first, the prisoners didn't even see her since they were too busy mocking Larrikin. When they acknowledged her presence, it was too late to pretend it had been a coincidence of her coming this way.

“Go away”, Skulduggery whispered heatedly and waved his hand, making his chains clank. “If they see you talking to us, they will kill you.”

To their surprise, the woman laughed. She was clad in a simple brown dress and a long white braid dangled down her back. Her wrinkly hands and face gave away her age even though she moved with the agility of a woman in her tweens. “Young man, when you are over ninety years old, Death could come every day.”

Saracen flashed her a smile. “You certainly don't look it, ma'am.”

“You're a charmer, aren't you? Elizabeth is my name. Death has spared me until now and I used to imagine Her sitting in Her dark realm, laughing at silly old me wishing to finally die. I don't possess the strength to do it myself but I sure know that I will not be intimidated by the likes of them.”

“Elizabeth - “, Anton started.

“Lizzy”, she interrupted. “They can't do anything to me that would scare me or make me reconsider what I am about to do.”

“Lizzy. Please, we don't want to see you hurt. These men, they are different, unlike anything you have ever seen.”

Lizzy laughed her clear laugh. It was a young laugh, not the tired laugh of an elderly lady and surprisingly, 'Lizzy' didn't seem off either. “Mr. … ?”

“Anton.”

“Anton, I know exactly what these beasts are and I know what you are.” A sly smile played around the corners of her mouth. Lizzy produced a small bottle from an apothecary's satchel slung around her hip and pressed it into Larrikin's hand. “Drink this. I have been watching you and if you buckle now, there will be no strength left in you for the big fight.”

“What fight?” Skulduggery wanted to know and pointed his index in the ginger's direction. “Larrikin, don't drink this.”  
Lizzy smiled good-naturedly. “Although, I am called Old Hag Liz around these parts, I wouldn't poison the only chance of beating the Major and his brainless puppets.”

“What does it contain?” Skulduggery asked.

“A potion that will give you strength when you need it. Look, you are our last hope”, Lizzy implored the still suspicious men. “Do you think it was easy to decide to put our faith in a group of complete strangers? This will only work if we trust one another.”

The Dead Men had not seen it from this perspective. Lizzy was taking a huge risk for helping them and she was putting all of her trust in them to save not only her but the entire village. 

“You sent the lad”, Saracen concluded. “Alastar.”

Lizzy smiled her charming smile again. “I knew the boy could do it”, she said proudly.

“We trust you”, Skulduggery announced. “We will do everything in our might to defeat Trivalis.”

Speaking of the devil, three soldiers came jogging their way. It should surprise them that their luck had lasted this long. “Oi, you! Wench! Stay away from the prisoners!”

Larrikin let the vial disappear inside his sleeve and sat up, blinking away the black swirls swimming before his eyes. “Lizzy, please! Leave!”

Lizzy blew the Dead Men a kiss and turned to face the guards. The first one to reach the elderly woman, drew his arm back and punched her in the stomach. Lizzy gasped and doubled over. Then she was dragged away by the soldiers.

“Lizzy!” Skulduggery screamed and tugged at his chains. He was distantly aware that the villagers had ceased their work and were staring at the scene. “Damn it to hell!!”

“Making friends already? I always knew that old hag meant trouble.”

The Dead Men pried their eyes away from the limp form of Lizzy and turned to see Trivalis lean against the wall of a farmer's house.

“She is the real mastermind behind these ridiculous riots and rebellious movements. Who would have thought? I have to admit, I did not see that coming”, Trivalis mused, eyebrows drawn together. “Can you imagine; a bunch of mortals picking a fight with sorcerers. We shall eradicate this mistake at once. Let us see how determined Lizzy will be after a night of torture - “

“Don't you dare lay a finger on her!” Larrikin's voice was still coarse and his threat seemed even more hollow and helpless than it would have been, had he not sounded like an old man.

Trivalis made a show of thinking really hard. The Dead Men could have strangled him on the spot, had they been free of their chains. “Who will I torture if not the head of this silly revolution?”

Although none of the Dead Men openly said it, each and every one of them was willing to take the old woman's place on the torturer's bench.

Trivalis laughed a cold laugh and pushed away from the wooden wall. He waggled a finger in their direction. “Passion and loyalty. Remember when I predicted these two foolish traits would be your downfall?” With this, the Major gave them a triumphant smirk which bordered on manic and clasped his hands behind his back and strolled in the direction his men had carried Lizzy.

“Oh, I forgot. You shall of course be invited to her execution tomorrow at dawn.”

The Dead Men cursed and shouted obscenities after Trivalis but that was about all they were able to do. Chained to a slab of rock, they were as helpless as … as prisoners tied to a block of stone.

The afternoon was spent in anxiousness and the tension was almost palpable. People were still staring at them but at this point neither of them cared.

Larrikin was forced to lay down again as his head was still swimming and his skin seemed to become tighter with every second his head was exposed to the sun. In the end, he decided to drink whatever the vial, Lizzy had pressed into his hand, contained. He felt as though he owned her that much of his trust. The liquid was cold and clear and seemed to cool his body from the inside. At the same time it made him drowsy and soon after, Larrikin was sound asleep in Dexter's lap.

During the night, however, none of them found sleep. Anxiousness kept them awake as well as horrid screams that began to fill the dark. No guard was to be seen near the chapel; they all had gone to watch the spectacle. Had the Dead Men had any doubts about Lizzy's authenticness, the cries that the wind carried to them would have disabused them rather quickly.

“I can't continue to listen to this”, Dexter whispered. His face was pale and he had pressed his lips to a thin line. It was nearly dawn and he was the first to speak. “This is happening because of us.”

“Unfortunately not. Lizzy knew what was going to come about. She wanted this to come about”, Shudder said quietly and although, the Dead Men knew he was right, they didn't want to believe it.  
A shuffling of feet let the prisoners fall silent and only when a group of villagers left the safety of the darkness, they relaxed. It was a motley bunch; people of every trade and profession. No matter the status or gender, all of them shared the will to stand up for themselves.

“At the execution we will riot”, the man up front said. Judging by his attire and strong muscular arms he surely was the blacksmith of the village. “They have taken our weapons away but I still have plenty stashed away in a secret compartment in my store.”

Skulduggery was the first to speak and when he did, his voice was neither incredulous nor demeaning. He simply asked a question. “All of you want to revolt against these soldiers?”

“Yes!” A woman whispered heatedly. “The Major has taken whatever he wanted whenever he wanted! We will no longer cower in his shadow like vermin!”

“Spoken strongly but these are not ordinary men”, Ghastly tried to reason.

“We have reached the point when to us it does not matter what or who they are. Witchers, mages, it is all the same. Listen to Old Liz scream. Do you think she has been the first one?” the blacksmith echoed. “We came to ask if you would truly help us like she predicted you would.”

“We will”, Skulduggery promised solemnly.

“Then we shall provide you with weapons of our own. What do you need? Swords? Bows?”  
Dexter hesitated. “How much do you have to spare after arming the entire village?”

“Four swords”, came the honest answer from the blacksmith. “I am sorry but we can give you some more. You are the hardened fighters and should have weapons.”

“Keep them. We really just need two swords. Anton, you alright with a sword?”

“It will do”, Anton shrugged. “If Saracen is able to swing a blade, I can do that as well.”

Incredulous silence embraced the small company. The villagers began whispering amongst themselves, discussing whether what they just heard was boldness or suicide. They wanted to go up against the soldiers with just their fists?

“Don't worry about us”, Larrikin tried to reassure them with a smile. “We are tougher than we look.”

The blacksmith knelt down in front of them and it was clear from his expression that he was trying to make a difficult decision. Beads of sweat had formed on is brow and he licked his lips. “As proof of my trust I will set you free. The rest is up to you.”

One by one the shackles clicked open and the Dead Men could feel the magic flowing through their bodies once more. Immediately, their spirits rose.

“Much better”, Dexter sighed and rubbed the irritated skin of his wrists. “Thank you.”  
The blacksmith appeared relieved that neither of the prisoners had sprung up and attacked them. “Can we count on you not to run?”

Skulduggery extended his hand and the blacksmith took it. “You have my word, Mr. … ?”

“Call me Ronan.”

“You have my word, Ronan. We will stand and fight for you.”

When the villagers had returned to their homes, hopeful to save not only their village and themselves but also Old Liz, the Dead Men went and devised a plan. Saracen and Anton inspected the admittedly crudely but sturdily crafted swords the blacksmith had left with them. Although heavy, they would do just fine for their purpose.

They also tore into the small amounts of food they had been given. It was a paltry excuse for a meal but it was most welcome; the Dead Men were starving and the villagers had probably given them all they had left.

“First things first”, Larrikin announced and started to wave his hands before his face. Droplets of glittering water appeared in the air before him and swirling, they formed a stream from which the ginger greedily drank.

“Oh”, Anton said. “Me too!”

Following suite, the other Elementals began to manipulate the air as well, filtering out the water and opposite to Larrikin, they were generous enough to provide the Adepts among them with the clear fluid as well.

“You're an arse, Larrikin”, Saracen grumbled when he had drunk his fill.

Ghastly shrugged. “Dainty arrogant egocentric nobleman, like I said.”

At dawn Trivalis sauntered into the market place. Closely following behind were two soldiers who led a stumbling Lizzy in their midst. The old woman was brought to a wooden block in the middle of the market square and pushed to her knees. As tattered as her simple dress had been before, it was no comparison to what it looked now. The fabric as well as the skin beneath was torn and cut and there seemed blood everywhere. Lizzy's hands had been bound before her body with a length of rope but otherwise she was free of restraints. 

The Dead Men were still sitting on their block of stone, the shackles loosely draped around their wrists to create the illusion of them still being safely tied down. Their anger, however, was no illusion. It burned brightly within them and gained force with every passing second. Still, they waited patiently for their moment to come.

“Villagers!” Trivalis shouted and spread out his arms, performing a slow and theatrical volte-face. “Gather round and witness the end of your little révolte!” Behind their Major, row upon row of soldiers had come together, a looming presence to fortify their leader's strength.

People began to form a semi-circle at the far end of the square, right behind the Dead Men. Men and some women but there were no children. All eyes were on Trivalis who now bent down to grab a handful of Lizzy's unruly hair. The elderly woman gasped but otherwise made no sound.

“Now, Mr. Pleasant. Are you happy with the result of your grand scheme?” Trivalis asked loud enough for everyone to hear. “Seeing this poor poor woman being executed on your order?”

Murmurs began to spread through the rows of villagers and it was not entirely friendly. Trivalis was good with words, they had to give him that. Already he was beginning to sow distrust between them.

Skulduggery smiled. “Never would I send anyone to the Death in my name. Don't be ridiculous, that is not our modus operandi. The Dead Men are the first ones to lay down their lives.”

“How about I made sure that name finally fitted?”

Shudder shook his head, obviously disapproving of Trivalis' approach of the topic. “In order to achieve that you would have to actually kill us. Pride is your problem, Major.”

Trivalis frowned, not at all content of Anton interrupting. “What do you mean by that?”

Lizzy smiled despite her split lip. Moving her head ever so slightly, she sought to meet the Dead Men's gaze. The faint tugging at her lips and the spark in her eye was all the confirmation and encouragement they needed.

It was Erskine who answered the Major, an impertinent grin plastered on his face. “You see, when we were captured, my dear friend Anton has pointed out what would have been the only logical and reasonable thing for you to do.”

“And what would that be?”

Skulduggery's voice turned ice cold when he answered. “When you meet the Dead Men and have them at your mercy, you kill them.”

“Your soldiers know better”, Ghastly added calmly. Somehow it was more horrifying than had he been threatening. “They are scared to death of us, even if we are in chains. And they are absolutely right. You ought to be terrified.”

“Of what exactly?”

The villagers had seen Lizzy's silent signal as well and although, they did not understand the words that were being exchanged, they trusted the old woman. 

“Trivalis! Stop this madness!” Ronan shouted. Suddenly there was a sword in his hand and the rest of the villagers retrieved arms from within coats and folds of dresses. Determination was the dominant expression on their faces.

The Major seemed honestly taken aback for a moment and he narrowed his eyes before his mouth stretched into a cold smile. “So that is how it is. Mr. Pleasant, this cannot possibly be your endgame? How did you manage to get a bunch of mortals to lay down their lives for you?”

Skulduggery shook his head and sighed. “Why do you keep forcing me into the role of the leader? Seriously, it's not my playing field.”  
Ronan gripped his sword tighter. “Release her.”

“Or what?” Trivalis actually laughed.

“We will no longer bow to your will! The lives of our loved ones you have already taken but we shall not allow you to steal ours as well.”

Trivalis motioned his soldiers to fan out as he dropped the amused expression and walked up to the blacksmith until they were just a few yards apart. Either he was taking the threat of the villagers seriously or he intended to wipe them out once and for all.

The Dead Men guessed the latter.

“Try me”, Trivalis sneered and it became clear that ire was the peak of his emotions now. “See what you get for that.” The Major half-turned towards Lizzy who had been pushed on the wooden block. “Execute her!”

It happened in an instant. As the henchman's sword described a downwards arch, a gust of wind smashed into him and sent him careening back. His surprised cry drew everyone's attention to the execution site where Lizzy was just straightening to her full height again.

The signal!

Quickly, the Dead Men shook the phony shackles off and scrambled to their feet. Using Trivalis' momentary distractedness, they strategically positioned themselves between the villagers and their opponents as an extra barrier.

“I thought we had agreed on Dexter taking the henchman out because of range issues?” Erskine asked, bewildered. He looked around to determine who had been the one to push against the air but the Elementals among them shook their heads. It hadn't been them. But who … ?

“There!” Saracen pointed towards the execution block and Lizzy. The ropes restraining the woman's wrists took to burning and rapidly disintegrated into ashes drifting to the ground. Irate flames shot up from her palms as she flung herself at the first unlucky soldier to stand in her path.  
Dexter grinned. “And there we have our missing Elemental! Show 'em, Liz!”

Trivalis only now realised the magnitude of his mistake. He had created a martyr. This woman had freely undergone severe torture to shock the farmers into action and force them to team up with the Dead Men. At no point during the night, they had made use of magic-binding irons. What for? What were the odds of a mage living amongst mortals in these parts? Elizabeth could have stood up and escaped any time she saw fit and yet had not.

Ronan blinked, not yet quite able to grasp what was happening. “Liz …” But this was not the time to ponder. “With strong hearts, men!”

“Let's take them, lads”, Anton said grimly and raised his sword. “And the Major belongs to me.”

It was an ugly and nasty battle, one that carried on for several hours. Although the villagers stood poor chances against trained mages, they were determined to keep on fighting. Every soldier they were able to take down themselves was one less for the Dead Men. The suicide squad tried to keep an eye on their allies, seeking to protect them whenever possible but they couldn't possibly tear themselves in half. People died. Good people, innocent folk.

And then it was over. Suddenly, like someone had shouted 'halt' and frozen the world in a single moment. When the last of the soldiers had either fled before the unforgiving wrath of the rebels or be killed, an eerie silence settled down in the village. For one second everything seemed to be suspended in time.

Erskine dropped against the steps of the chapel where he had dispatched his last opponent. Exhausted as he was, he simply stayed down, chest heaving and closed his eyes for a moment. At some point during the fight he had relieved a soldier of his sword since in a full-blown battle magic alone only brought death.

“Now, now, Erskine”, Ghastly rasped, a small sad smile on his face. They had made it through another skirmish, yet another battle had been lived through. It had been one of the harsh and bitter ones, where every death became personal.

“We won” Larrikin stated, sounding not at all like he was enjoying their victory.

On the market square the surviving villagers slowly began to gather. Women and children were coaxed out of the houses by the heavy silence to join their loved ones. For some, there was nobody waiting anxiously to take them into their arms again. 

“Yes, but at what cost?” Skulduggery's voice was not more than a pained whisper and his head sank to his chest. Clattering, his stolen bloody sword hit the stony steps leading up to the chapel and he dropped to his knees in exhaustion. “What have we won? Trivalis managed to escape.” He sounded desperate.

“It wasn't your fault”, Dexter tried to reason, although he knew, Skulduggery would blame himself until the end of days for it. “The village is safe thanks to you. Thanks to us.”

“There will be other villages like this”, Saracen whispered, the horror clear on his face. “This should have ended here.”

Shudder placed a hand on Skulduggery's shoulder. “We should help them.” He nodded towards the villagers who had begun to fan out in search for survivors and were laying their dead in a line in the market square.

Skulduggery nodded. It seemed like a good idea.

Nobody talked, nobody cursed. Soft crying was the only sound that pierced the heavy silence.  
The shockingly small group of survivors stopped and watched the Dead Men expectantly and curious even as they approached.

“We would like to offer our aid”, Ghastly said softly.  
Lizzy stepped forward. There seemed to be even more blood on her now than before and she sported a row of new cuts and bruises. Still, she stood tall, a small tired smile playing around her mouth as tears streamed down her face. “So much have you already done for us. If we could ask for one last favour?”

“Name it.” Dexter had spoken without hesitation.

“Dispose of Mevolent's soldiers. None of us want to touch them. We have our own deaths to mourn and I have to tend to the wounded.”

Saracen inclined his head and when he opened his mouth his voice was quiet. “Consider it done.”

It was darkening already when the procession started. The dead had been wrapped in white linen and it was the duty of a remaining family member to honour them by carrying them to the cemetery. Keeping at a respectful distance, the Dead Men followed the procession out of the village, all the while joining in the funeral songs.

Due to the great amount of bodies, it had been decided, that instead of a traditional burying there would be a fire burial. Nobody had objected. In the middle of the graveyard a massive wooden platform had been erected and one by one, the dead were lifted up on it. Brushwood and twigs had been stuffed in the free space beneath, and also between the corpses, the villagers placed sheaves of twigs, bound together with colourful ribbons to pay their respect.

Ronan held up little Alastar so he could place a bunch with a dark blue ribbon on top of a wrapped body. Both of them were crying silently, just letting the tears flow.

Song upon song was sung until the sun had long disappeared beneath the horizon and the first torches had been ignited. Eventually, Elizabeth turned to face the community. “If five kinsmen would take up torches to set free the souls of our dead.”

A petite woman with red-rimmed eyes and a small child clutching her leg accepted a torch but instead of approaching the bier, she took her daughter by the hand and solemnly walked up to the Dead Men. They were standing slightly to the side as to not disturb the funeral.

“Witchers we named these beasts. Dead Men you call yourself but to us you are mages who fight for what is good in this world. Perhaps your title derives from your quest to save the life of the innocent even if it means your own death. There is good in you and in your flames. They are pure. I speak on behalf of all of us when I request you to ignite the wood.”

Although taken by surprise, the Dead Men knew not to deny such an honour. Ghastly, Erskine, Skulduggery and Larrikin followed the woman towards the bier and positioned themselves around it.

Looking back at the remaining three, the woman frowned slightly. “What about you?”

“Our powers do not allow us to conjure flames, yet our wills are with the deceased and we shall pay them respect the best way we know”, Anton answered solemnly, a hand on his heart.

“Lizzy?” Erskine asked and the old woman nodded. The five Elementals held up their right hands above their head and snapped their fingers.


End file.
